He kissed her deeply and hungrily. “What are you doing?” He cried. Then she saw him. ” His face darkened. ” “Perhaps you remember me, Miss Pellissier,” the second young man interposed. . Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. ‘I am saying so,’ protested Gerald mildly. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky.
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