Her new husband had paid for a cadre of escorts back to Mantua. They would suffer amazing hardships to hunt the snow-leopard; but in the Temple of Five Hundred Gods they would not take the trouble to ask the name of one! But this girl, she was alone. ” “Do what?” “Oh!—anything. I give myself to you. Rubbishy novels and pernicious rascals. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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