Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. Sydney was watching her eagerly. He drew a little breath of relief. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. I hear her coming. —"Stay! something occurs to me. "He has quite the air of one. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot.
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