It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. "Quilt Arnold called this morning to say so. To lose was death, quickly and mercilessly delivered. “Umph!” he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it to the pillar-box. Suddenly Ah Cum laughed aloud. And then: “Of course! Always. There was a little pain, but it wasn’t anything. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. Terrific yells rent the air. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky.
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