" With this, they dismounted; and fastening their horses to a tree, proceeded towards the house. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. Of course, he had no idea who I was. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour.
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