If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. The day had become suddenly overcast. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. ’ Disappointment flooded her. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. Sc. “Child!” he cried. He slapped his knee. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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