" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. Divide the money between you, and wear the ornaments for my sake. Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. She had eaten little or no tea, and her mid-day meal had been worse than nothing. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. I did all for the best, I'm sure. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. She did not therefore reveal to him that he had guaged her with accuracy.
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