” She rang the bell, and he waited by her side until she was admitted to the tall, gloomy lodging-house. “This has all the clean freshness of spring and youth,” said Capes; “it is love with the down on; it is like the glitter of dew in the sunlight to be lovers such as we are, with no more than one warm kiss between us. The thought of them distressed her without subtracting at all from the oceans of happiness in which she swam. No matter how often she came across this phase in love stories, there was never anything explanatory: as if all human beings perfectly understood. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. The bridge was open. He was a philosopher. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance.
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