That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. She wanted to return his gaze but focused intently on a spot next to and above the brick fireplace, as her music teachers had always taught her to do instead of looking directly at the audience. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. "If I thought he lived——" observed Wood. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. Now lend me your own hand. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. I wanted you to know. ” He paused for a moment, and then suddenly continued.
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