She did not tell of the encounter; she felt she must wait, but in her
heart she knew that Jerry-Jo McAlpin was as surely on her trail as she
was herself. Such things as that meeting did not happen to them of the
In-Place unless for a purpose.
She had a wonderful evening with Boswell. They did not go out, and after
dinner he read her some manuscript stories. Boswell had never before so
intimately permitted her to come close to his work. She had seen stories
of his in print, had heard plans for others, but before the fire in his
study that night he read, among other things, "The Butterfly and the
Beetle." So beautifully, so touchingly, had he pictured the little
romance, of which Priscilla herself was part, that the tears fell from
the girl's eyes while her lips were smiling at the tender humour. The
undercurrent of meaning threw new light on the lonely life of the rich,
but wretched man. The joy depicted in simple, friendly intercourse, the
aspiration of the Beetle, the grateful appreciation for the plain, common
happenings that in most lives were taken for granted, but which in his
rose to monumental importance, endeared him to her anew.
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