"You poor child!" said Prudence. Men ought not to idealize any woman. I can save you, and will. Meysey Hill—never your wife. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty.
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