Kneebone took his leave. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. She turned her head to each side. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father.
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