She flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only Mrs. He had the air of a man who has said too much. I don’t care. Then he rallied, smiling a little. It is that you cannot refuse her sanctuary. Again silence. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. . An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. She caught at the idea.
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