He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. “It’s a nice holiday. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. ‘Do you think I do not know? What am I doing here, do you think?’ ‘That’s just exactly what I’ve been asking myself,’ he returned. She wanted to be on with the show. The man is a stranger to me. Mr. Preparations were next made for taking Thames on board. Below was an uninspiring street, a thoroughfare of boarding-houses and apartments.
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