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It was a few hours after this that Winterborne, who, curiously
enough, had NOT perceived Grace writing, was clearing away the
tree from the front of South's late dwelling. He saw Marty
standing in her door-way, a slim figure in meagre black, almost
without womanly contours as yet. He went up to her and said,
"Marty, why did you write that on my wall last night? It WAS you,
you know."
"Because it was the truth. I didn't mean to let it stay, Mr.
Winterborne; but when I was going to rub it out you came, and I
was obliged to run off."
"Having prophesied one thing, why did you alter it to another?
Your predictions can't be worth much."
"I have not altered it."
"But you have."
"No."
"It is altered. Go and see."
She went, and read that, in spite of losing his dwelling-place, he
would KEEP his Grace. Marty came back surprised.
"Well, I never," she said. "Who can have made such nonsense of
it?"
"Who, indeed?" said he.
"I have rubbed it all out, as the point of it is quite gone.


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