She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. “Bring any new songs you may have. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. So saying, he manfully resumed his work; while Wood and Thames quitted the room, and went down stairs.
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