"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. There was little fighting spirit here. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. . . ‘That—that—why do you speak of him?’ ‘Because I feel you ought to know,’ Gerald said calmly, but rising and watching her closely, ‘that all your trouble may be in vain. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. “I believe she’s dressing up-stairs—now. .
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