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. Then Mr. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. "Anywhere," he said in answer to the manager's query.
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