at the time of the influenza scare, that she had been "all alone," that she hated men, that she loved women more; men had not been good to her.
Somehow the individuality seemed to become indefinite as I became busy and used to sink itself into the background.
Tony came in the evening running up from the gate, my letter in his hand and an anxious look on his face.
"Tony! Did you get my letter? Isn't it marvellous? Would you like to see me do it and hear the songs? I'll put the gas out if you like and do it."
But Tony laughed and looked shy.
"No, no, no, no," he said, "you musn't. If you let yourself give way to these things you'll become very ill—You must not do it, Tina!"
I felt horribly crushed. I had longed all my life to be an actress especially of this kind, and could so well catch the spirit of it—all the little arch and coquettish turns of the head and hands, tricks of voice and manner, and quaint little dancing movements of the body.
But Tony was firm. He was sorry for me I could see. He went away early and asked me to write to him again soon and tell him how I was.
So the "Spanish Actress" faded away into obscurity and then another came.
Tony thought I was encouraging them but I wasn't. It was always a surprise to me when I found they had arrived.
One day I found myself taking on the personality of a man and just let myself go to see what was going to happen.
I found myself walking over to my writing-desk and turning the key.
There was a photograph of a cousin of mine in his judge's gown and wig, hanging on the wall above, and just to the left of it a picture of a church window with two kneeling figures at the altar rail and a flood of golden light falling upon them through the stained-glass above.
The Presence half opened the lid of the desk, then his eyes, seeming to be drawn to the picture of the Judge above, scowled at it. He looked from that to the open desk up and down as if he saw Justice in the eyes of the Law above, and then his gaze was drawn to the church window.
Then he opened my desk and with his eye still travelling furtively and anxiously defiant to the Judge, he hurriedly went through my papers, looked at my Savings Bank books, made a grimace of scornful disgust at them, and tossed them aside. He scowled again up at the Judge, evidently afraid of him, then again glanced at the church, then at my bookcase, then attentively along the shelves of my bookcase till his eyes rested on my bible. He got up then, took the bible, carried it to the table, opened it and read a verse.
