He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. They were suddenly thrown aside, and a man stepped out from his hiding-place. \"What's that?\" Lucy asked. She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. “How fortunate I am, Miss Pellissier! All day I have been hoping that I might run across you.
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