“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her and almost leaning over her. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. I would have heard her. "The devil you have! Then, perhaps, you can tell me when he intends to put his threat into execution?" "What threat?" asked Jackson.
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