" "I always detested Mrs. Bête, she told herself fiercely. Beneath the shelf, containing these books, hung the fine old ballad of 'St. Rain changed to hail, then 154 sleet, then snow. Her grave fine face, her warm clear complexion, had already aroused his curiosity as he had gone to and fro in Morningside Park, and here suddenly he was near to her and talking freely and intimately. “My God!” he said at last, with tremendous feeling, and then again, “My God!” Now that this thing was said her mind was clear and calm.
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