A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. “Michelle, it’s me, Lucy. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive.
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