It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers. " "At all events, let me send her away, my dear," supplicated the carpenter, anxious to avert the impending storm. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. " "I'm convinced of it," replied Shotbolt; "and it was on that very account I came here. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. I felt suddenly I understood you—as an intelligent person.
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