Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. John stared palely. Jonathan had to feel his way. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. On his return to the room, Jonathan purposely left the door of the Well Hole ajar. It was surely odd that her thought should pick up that picture and recast it so vividly. I'm sure he'll do his best to content you.
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