. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. Wood, would preclude the possibility of his remaining with his new friends as long as his inclinations prompted. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. Could she hold him and manage the reins? If only Gerald had not gone. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. One OUGHT to want to please her. "Shotbolt! by—" cried Austin, as the captive was dragged forth. She mentally resolved to do her best to avoid personal encounters with him in that instant. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. "That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. The amazing tonic of the thought! From time to time she laid her hand upon Spurlock's forehead: it was still cold.
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