name. Strange, what passion sometimes can be put into a
_Christian_ name!

When the door was shut on Isabel, she made no haste to undress. Indeed,
she sat down on the side of the bed as though she had been waiting to
sit down for ever so long, sat very still as in a dream, and an hour
went by and she was still sitting and gazing in front of her.

And downstairs in the study, where the lamps were still burning,
Theophil was sitting by the fire in just the same curiously wrought and
withdrawn way, with just the same eyes.

Isabel's room was over his. Presently she heard him moving about; then
she heard him coming upstairs. For a moment the air seemed to grow warm,
as she heard him softly pass her room; then she heard him close
his door.

She shook her reverie from her, as though it had been a black veil full
of stars, and began to undress. Presently her eyes fell on a little pile
of handkerchiefs, with needle and cotton, and little letters printed on
dainty tapes, beside it. Jenny had forgotten to put away her sewing.

Isabel took up one of the handkerchiefs, to which the needle and thread
were still attached, and read "Jenny Lond ..." (Don't you know that's
bad luck, Jenny?)

"So soon as that! Is it so soon as that?" she sighed.

Happy Jenny!