Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. She rested her head upon his shoulder. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. “After all, why should he be surprised?” she remarked. He was always drawing contrasts between a woman’s lot and a man’s, and treating her as a wonderful new departure in this comparison. Directly in range stood the strange young man, although he was at the far side of the loft. “Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner.
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