Charcoal. \" Obediently, Lucia rose from her seated position on the bed and approached the baby and the mother in wonderment. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. You had better let me go again. A dozen shynesses and intellectual barriers were being outflanked or broken down in her mind.
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