He smiled. Paintings sold off the walls. The wall of the sky, the wall of the horizon, the wall behind which each human being hid—the wall behind which she herself was hiding! If only her mother had lived, her darling mother! Presently the unhappy puzzlement left her face; and an inward glow began to lighten it. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat.
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