But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. The Tigress went prowling for nut, too. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. Lucy was silent. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. Three cars were lined up in the driveway. ‘Allow me. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. .
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