‘Don’t try to turn it off,’ ordered Miss Froxfield. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. So that the thought of Ann Veronica up-stairs had been extremely painful for her through all the silent dinner-time that night. ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Gerald. He must be a sly fox to get out of the Mint without my knowledge. . He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. All his interest in Ruth, all his care and solicitude, could now be translated into a single word—love.
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