"What a nasty mean trick to let in that glare. You used to tease me as a child," she said from the back of the room. "What made you take these stuffy rooms, Jack? They’re very ugly and uncomfortable." "I didn’t anticipate the visits of my female friends," said Cummings. "Come here, Evelyn; be a good girl and—you know the rest. No, I’m not chaffing now—you’re bothered, aren’t you?" "I rather wish I hadn’t come, Grand Inquisitor," said Evelyn. "Well, put down those glasses then; they worry me." She came and stood behind his chair. "Things are so horribly mixed up, Jack. One thinks perhaps it’s—dangerous to go to a special place and see a special person—and then some one who has the right compels one to. Do you think what St. Philip Neri said about the way of escape was true?" "Ungrammatical—but fairly concise for a woman. By the bye, I always gave St. Paul the credit of the remark you quote," said Cummings, his eyes twinkling. "I wasn’t thinking of that obvious text," said Evelyn triumphantly. "Capecelatro says what I mean—’Paradise was not made for cowards.’ St. Philip always told one to face foes visible and invisible, as you know. But"—she bowed her head—"there was one particular temptation he told us to fly from the moment we recognized even the barest shadow of possibility of its coming near us." There was a little pause. "Yes?" "Oh, I can look you in the face," said Evelyn hurriedly, coming forward. "It’s not quite a temptation, Jack. A shadow, rather, that I’m flung against." "But a substantial shadow." "I’m shut up in the room with it," said Evelyn. "I believe I’m exaggerating. The whole thing may just be a senseless scruple, or vanity, and yet——" "A cloud no bigger than a man’s hand on the horizon," said Cummings softly. Evelyn sat down.