Then all the embarrassments of the matter flashed in upon her. "Certainly not," replied Gay. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Husband of mine, I think we have rather overrated the emotional capacity of those—those dears. Wood turned to look at him. But you must tell her. You come to England, and hide in a secret convent in London. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility.
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