Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. "These writer chaps are queer birds. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. ” Frenchmen, they are different.
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