After a brief conversation, which Sheppard sustained with his accustomed liveliness, the old man turned to Bess and addressed a few words of common-place gallantry to her. The house was eerily silent, which alerted her to the idea that someone might be listening. Imagine her, putting herself to all this delay and inconvenience for a young wastrel she did not know and who, the moment he got on his feet, would doubtless pass out of her life without so much as Thank you! And it was ten to one that she would not comprehend the ingratitude. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. “Women are mocked,” she said. McClintock wrote me about you; but all I needed was the sight of your face as it was a moment gone.
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