The delay was only momentary. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. Visiting? Dressed for it, certainly. Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. Here was one that subtly mocked her. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. And think things out. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. Sheer calculation on his. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him.
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