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The Yale spirit! Ah Cum smiled whimsically. Pardon! I wish to say, for your granddaughter, we seek succour. But it is not your name. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. You’d make a good Devil. He chuckled. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. What a heat that news had wrought. F.
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