" "I don't care for that," replied Jack. It was the same Bios whose nature and drift and ways and methods and aspects engaged them all. I am suspected of having shot the man. " Jack would not hazard a glance at Winifred; but, quitting the church, got into an adjoining meadow, and watched the party slowly ascending the road leading to Dollis Hill. Disappointment flickered in Gerald’s chest, and he did not hesitate to speak his mind, unable to help a reproachful note. In his way he was critical. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. “Ask me nothing. You met Sir Rowland at the house of a Romisch priest, Father Spencer. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. You will wonder why he did not hold the pearls until Father returned. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. .
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