She stood up and he sat down at the microscope, and for a time he was busy scrutinizing one section after another. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. Entranced, he stared at the name. But she was not there. Jackson. This gloom was impossible.
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