“Yes, I remember,” she said. Wood, in indignant surprise. All right, I’m coming. He stared at the woman depicted thereon for a long moment, awe in his head. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. What is the supreme idea in the heart and mind of youth? To win fame and fortune: and particularly to enjoy them.
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