Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. “He sees through it all. Wild," said the turnkey, trembling in every joint. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. While the girl kept the patient from dwelling upon his misfortunes, whatever these were, he himself would have to keep the girl from brooding over hers.
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