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A quarter of an hour passed. Mr. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. “Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. " "Don't scold him, father," interposed Thames; "he's been frightened enough already. Yes, of course. She must learn wisdom—as God pleases. I'll knock off at tea. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. She will take me in until I can make some plans.
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