The policy of this step was immediately apparent. Poor little one. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. It was a moment or two before Gerald, opening his eyes on the girl’s astounded expression, recollected himself sufficiently to pull out of the extraordinary impact she’d had on him. The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed.
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