"Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. I thought that I was marrying Meysey Hill, not that creature. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. ‘If you will not tell me about Valade, so be it. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders.
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