‘Don’t tell me. I would that you were my own. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. " "And why not?" asked Kneebone, eagerly. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. If you desire to please me, you will go. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket.
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