She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. Pray, walk in. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity.
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