Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. . She had thought that all Morningside Park householders came home before seven at the latest, as her father usually did. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. . It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. “There’s no one here except me. " "May be," returned the man gravely.
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