If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. ’ ‘I like that,’ Gerald protested. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Where even to be a Catholic, they say, is to be looked upon with scorn and disgust. Do not mistake me. "You'll find a waterman asleep under his tilt in one of them ere craft, if you look about, Sir," replied Ben, backing water as he spoke. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me.
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