“Are you A, B, C, or D?” he asked. “A man like that taints a girl by looking at her, by his mere conversation. She went next day to the schools, and her world seemed all made of happiness just worked up roughly into shapes and occasions and duties. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr. Wood the best of wives. "When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber. You have told me that you cared.
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