The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Only her ungloved fingers, and the arms in their long tight sleeves as she held the heavy gun aloft, bore any sign of stiffness. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. True, on board the ships she had watched young men from afar, but only with that normal curiosity which is aroused in the presence of any new species. He was not there. A bad man, in fact. That would be an unkind twist of fate.
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