" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. “Yes I did. ’ ‘So that was it. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck.
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