” “Wait,” she said. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. . ’ He sat looking her over in silence for a moment or two, his thoughts revolving around the name and the way it fitted so exquisitely on quite another set of features. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. ” She repeated, as if she answered an objector: “A sort of blacklegging. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside.
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