She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. I suppose if one were to love some one, one would feel doubtful. . I don’t want to tear at you with hot, rough hands. But this made the chase all the more exciting. It throbs cruelly. It is you who took my name, not I yours. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. She hissed in a breath and his eyes met hers. She opened it and imbibed. I call myself a man of the world, a man of many experiences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.
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