Perhaps it was loneliness. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. So far he had not stirred; from his bloodless lips had come no sound. He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. Now it occurred to him that to show her the sealed letter would be a better way. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. Before he could return, Jack had made good his retreat; and, wandering about the lanes and hedges, kept out of sight as much as possible. His mouth was sensuous but his eyes became frenetic. ‘For my part, I am in no hurry to end this exciting little adventure. "But, I own, I think it is like.
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