ng glass, she flung ou

[Kopera Dosier]

H her father, and another walk every afternoon with Porter--and she is
always talking to lonesome people and sick people; and all the while she
wears a little faint shining smile, like an angel's. Yet I used to be
quite scornful of Leila, even while I loved her. I thought she was so
sweetly and weakly feminine; yet she is steering her little ship through
stormy waters, while I have lost my rudder and compass, and all the
other things that a mariner needs in a time of storm. _Before the
storm._ The fog still hangs over us, and we seem to ride on the surface
of a dead sea. Last night there was no moon and to-day Aunt Frances has
not appeared. Even Delilah seems to feel depressed by the silence and
the stillness--not a sound but the beat of the engines and the hoarse
hoot of the horns. This paper is damp as I write upon it, and blots the
ink, but--I sha'n't rewrite it, because the blots will make you see me
sitting here, with drops of moisture clinging to my coat and to my
little hat, and making my hair curl up in a way that it never does in
dry weather. I wonder, if you were here, if you would seem a ghost like
all the others. Nothing is real but my thoughts of the things that used
to be. I can't believe that I am on my way to London, and that I am
going to live with Constance, and go sightseeing with Au
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