Her mind turned and accused itself of having been cold and hard. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. “John,” she said, “I am afraid that I am going to make you unhappy. “I believe it is. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. ‘She is a maid only, and I do not believe she has married Emile. ” “I am afraid,” she murmured, “that it would be difficult. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside.
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