Gosse had hidden himself successfully then. Her words, as she said them, seemed to her to mean nothing, and there was so much that struggled for expression. He seated himself before it. "I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. As soon as the latter beheld him, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted.
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