What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. “I think that you were inquiring for Mr. ‘Ah, yes? To what do I pretend?’ ‘That,’ Gerald said regretfully, ‘I have not yet been able to fathom. I heard everywhere of his enormous riches and his generosity. Somewhere in the world would be his people, perhaps his mother; and it might soften the bitterness, of the return to consciousness if he found a woman at his bedside. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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