Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. ’ ‘What son?’ asked Roding. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. " "Thames!" "You seem to doubt my love," he continued,—"you seem to think that change of circumstances may produce some change in my affections. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. She’s already spoken for. Nothing is settled upon. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. ” She smiled at him cheerfully. His mind was busy with a résumé of yesterday's unusual events. ” She tried to sound convincing as she looked away hotly.
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