A girl—at my age—is grown-up. “Do you know why they are estranged?” Lucy asked. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. But something instinctive prevented that, and with the finest resolve not to be “silly” and prudish she found that whenever he became at all bold in this matter she became severely scientific and impersonal, almost entomological indeed, in her method; she killed every remark as he made it and pinned it out for examination. They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. ” “Two years ago,” she answered.
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