the others? Or was it possible that now they would all seem like
that . . .?

Alexa's voice came suddenly out of the dusk. "May Touchett was
right--it IS like listening at a key-hole. I wish I hadn't read
it!"

Flamel returned, in the leisurely tone of the man whose phrases
are punctuated by a cigarette, "It seems so to us, perhaps; but to
another generation the book will be a classic."

"Then it ought not to have been published till it had become a
classic. It's horrible, it's degrading almost, to read the
secrets of a woman one might have known." She added, in a lower
tone, "Stephen DID know her--"

"Did he?" came from Flamel.

"He knew her very well, at Hillbridge, years ago. The book has
made him feel dreadfully . . . he wouldn't read it . . . he didn't
want me to read it. I didn't understand at first, but now I can
see how horribly disloyal it must seem to him. It's so much worse
to surprise a friend's secrets than a stranger's."

"Oh, Glennard's such a sensitive chap," Flamel said, easily; and
Alexa almost rebukingly rejoined, "If you'd known her I'm sure
you'd feel as he does. . . ."

Glennard stood motionless, overcome by the singular infelicity
with which he had contrived to put Flamel in possession of the two