Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. For a long time she surveyed a row of towering holly-hocks, as though they offered an explanation. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps. “No, I am alone,” she answered. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The only difficulties that presented themselves clearly to her were the difficulties of getting away from Morningside Park, and not the difficulties at the other end of the journey. ’ Disappointment flooded her.
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