“Well,” he said slowly, “I had met you three times—before Drummond’s dinner. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Why, Nab, you shake as if you'd got an ague?" he added, turning to the Jew, whose teeth chattered audibly. The flush deck was without wells. His patient was distinctly of a different order of life. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now.
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