If he gave to Miriam the excuse of his men friends, he felt quite justified.

His mother began to be relieved.
He always told her where he had been.
During the summer Clara wore sometimes a dress of soft cotton stuff with loose sleeves.

When she lifted her hands, her sleeves fell back, and her beautiful strong arms shone out.
"Half a minute," he cried.

"Hold your arm still." He made sketches of her hand and arm, and the drawings contained some of the fascination the real thing had for him.

Miriam, who always went scrupulously through his books and papers, saw the drawings.
"I think Clara has such beautiful arms," he said.
"Yes! When did you draw them ?" "On Tuesday, in the work-room.