Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. Where her husband saw only two youngsters in the mating mood, she felt that tragedy in some phase lurked in this room—if only in the loneliness of these two, without kith or kin apparently, thousands of miles from home. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. But the whole set of some three or four shelves were of wood. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you.
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