His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Never was there another girl like this one. He realized that he was committed to the path across the fields, an uninteresting walk at the best of times. Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. . Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key. Her hair once more was arranged with its old simplicity. "I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked.
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