I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. “But your hair,” he gasped. I bored him. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. Come in! Come in, do. "You poor child!" said Prudence.
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