She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded. He was into the passage in time to see her slip into another chamber at the end. Basically a kindly man but made cynical and derisive by sordid contacts, O'Higgins had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as unselfishness. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. "Are you hurt, Thames?" asked Jack, anxiously. He did not play golf, but took his exercise on horseback, which was also unsympathetic.
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