Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. The very sight of these impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than Sheppard's—but nothing could daunt him. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. Her finger-nails dug into her flesh. Kneebone and Mr. He had got here at speed by that means. And for me there is only one treasure-house. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her.
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