She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. What had shifted his casual interest was the visible prospect of a party of three who were coming down the packet gangplank. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. .
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