” The girl shook her head. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. “Your mother was a Gypsy.
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