She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. She heard Gianfrancesco arguing with Sebastianus. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald conceded, ‘but I’m damned if I herald my approach with a lot of unnecessary blundering about in the dark. I wanted to speak to you first. The villain has enjoyed his security too long. Jim is up to the neck in Mahatmas and Theosophy and Higher Thought and rot—writes letters worse than Alice. CHAPTER III.
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