“I will not have this slavery,” she said. ’ ‘Can you prove it?’ demanded Hilary. I was the last on board. “Slavery! Downtroddenness! When I think of it I feel all over boot marks— men’s boots. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. She waited expectantly. It seems to me very silly. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. I’ve made an ally of her champion. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not. “I find the two inseparable. No girl with a face like that….
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