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Chapter XI THE PUZZLEMENT OF NIGEL ENNISON Nigel Ennison walked towards his club the most puzzled man in London. I’ve just finished my first symphony!” He said proudly. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers. If it were but the question of his reason for marrying her, the solution would have been simple. Her patience was waning fast. Leonardo he was my—’ ‘Don’t say it,’ Gerald cut in hoarsely. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. “You can’t think that I’m fool enough to be put off like this. ‘She gave me four separate identities for herself, you must know, including Prudence, before I managed to get at her real name. She drew in a deep breath of the sweet mountain air. “You poor little girl!” he cried. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone.
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