“We parted— that night the best of friends. All bad verse—originally the epigram was Lang’s, I believe—is written in a state of emotion. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts. On searching the grounds, we found two suspicious-looking fellows in the garden, and had scarcely secured them, when your mother's cries summoned us hither, just in time to preserve her. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. "Very well, Mr.
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