" "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. " The hint was not lost upon Wood. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. Was there anything he could do! "No, Hoddy; nothing. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling.
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