We are both graduates of Yale. The trader you spoke about: he disliked your father, didn't he? Well, he probably played your father a horrible practical joke. “It was my sister Anna. That he was immolating Ruth on the altar of his conscience never broke in upon his thought for consideration. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. His age was not far from fifty. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin.
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