“He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. The flush deck was without wells. Mutual concessions!—and then to turn it around so that it suggested that an act of kindness might be interpreted as moral obloquy! Walls; queer, invisible walls that receded whenever she reached out, but that still remained between her and what she sought. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. You must know that. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. She did not know herself. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. "I'll admit that. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased.
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