A message was dispatched from Florence that she was to again receive her future husband. . The service began. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. I was grounded for the last two weeks. Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening.
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