Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. The perspiration stood out upon his forehead. . He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. Oh God! pardon me. “When you married me——” Her little hand flashed out across the table. Gerald would not marry her even with a dowry. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. He appeared to thunder dire happenings if she did not obey him without further ado. Meantime, as the doctor was splitting his breakfast orange, he heard a commotion in his office, two rooms removed: volleys of pidgin English, one voice in protest, the other dominant.
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