A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. Ireton and his friends to taste it. Crouching down, Gerald waited, hands at the ready. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. ” He made to speak and did not. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time.
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