Ann Veronica looked down at her fingers on the claret-colored table-cloth. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. He thought of his severe attitude towards the girl who was rightly and with contempt refusing his measured help. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face.
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