She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. She was trembling a little. “That’s not. Muffling up his face, Jack turned away; but he had not proceeded many steps when he heard a man reading aloud an account of his escapes from a newspaper. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. "You know my motive well enough," answered Jonathan. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way.
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