“I find the two inseparable. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. That did not sound like the name the young man had offered in the tower of the water-clock. Capes was rather a discovery. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers. One side of the face was white with foamy lather and the other ruddy-cheeked and blue-jawed. CHAPTER IX.
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