’ Gerald seized on this. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. “Dear John,” she whispered. '—'They can't,' says I. ‘I dare say the best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. His eyes closed. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. Gerald crossed back to the window. He waved a hand toward the sea. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer.
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