hoped--for although I am a bit of a Radical, I lay claim to having some
common-sense too--if it were to be one of these three, it would be he.

But the calm indifference with which this slip of a girl treated three
such lovers was truly appalling. I can't think how they stood it: I
shouldn't.

I cannot remember exactly when it was that I made a discovery. Opposite
to the library, of which I have already spoken, now a venerable old
room, was my bed-room; and there was no other room until you had gone
along a passage and crossed a hall. It was my custom to go to bed very
early, and I did so here at Duncan's, long before the rest of the
household. I suppose they thought I went fair off to sleep, too; for
this part of the house was always deserted after I had gone into my
room.

It was thus I made the discovery that every night, before retiring
herself, Janet came to the library and stayed a few minutes; and I could
hear her sometimes moving about books on the table.

For a considerable time I felt hopelessly puzzled. All at once it struck
me--girls are the same all over the world and in all ages--that she
must come there to look at the photograph of someone she cared for; to
say good-night to it; perhaps to murmur a prayer over it. Girls are made
so. Doubtless she would take it away with her altogether to some place
more convenient for such oblations but that Duncan was much in the
library, and had lynx-eyes.

I grew troubled, these nocturnal visits continuing, and wished that I
could help her. I thought if I could only find out whose the photograph