Page:Middle Aged Love Stories (IA middleagedlove00bacorich).djvu/66



Miss Gould’s lodger shuddered as he remembered the quarter he had surreptitiously bestowed upon the man, and the withering scorn that would be his portion were the weakness known. He smiled as he recalled the scene in the cellar when he had helped Miss Gould up the stairs and returned to soothe Henry, who regretted that he had left one timber of the woodhouse upon another.

“Though I’m bound to say, Mr. Welles, that I see how he felt. I’ve often felt like a fool explainin’ how they was to move that wood back an’ forth. It does seem strange that Miss Gould has to do it that way. Give ’em some-thin’ an’ let ’em go, I say!”

It was precisely his own view—but how fundamentally immoral the position was he knew so well! He recalled Miss Gould’s lectures on the subject, miracles of eloquence and irrefutably correct in deductions that interested him not nearly so much as the lecturer.

“So firm, so positive, so wholesome!”