“Some day,” she answered. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. John exited quickly from the side of the stage and returned to where his mother and father sat. “After all,” he said, “I am not sure that you are not a very material person. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. To-morrow they will all be contradicted. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks.
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