She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Gerald tried it. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. He went on with intense urgency. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient.
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