She flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only Mrs. Thinking of Mantua, she wandered to the courtyard. As soon as he was gone, the two women divested themselves of their hoods and cloaks, and threw them, as if inadvertently, into the farthest part of the angle in the wall. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. She is Bohemian to the fingertips.
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