He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. Here were the passionate lovers! What their past had been he neither cared nor craved to know. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. But we're neglecting the punch all this time.
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