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She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel. On approaching the couch, they found Sir Rowland senseless, and extended over the dead body of his unfortunate sister. Was he, too, on the way to the beach? What a pity! All alone, and none to warn him of the abject wretchedness at the end of Drink. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. It was easy to discover that he was a knave, but equally easy to perceive that he was a pleasant fellow; a combination of qualities by no means of rare occurrence. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Kneebone, Van Galgebrok, and Baptist Kettleby—all of whom greeted him cordially. Bête, she told herself fiercely. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. “Really?” “Would not let it go. Sometimes I am frightfully busy; and then there will be periods of dullness. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face.
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