The rogue took everything we had. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. All this was the work of a minute. And this clear-visioned child had comprehended that only half the rogues were really ill. Gerald caught the look and slipped the weapon into his pocket. Was not Gerald altogether on her side? He was, even though he played games like an imbecile, a person tout à fait sympathique as she had discovered at the outset. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe.
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