" CHAPTER IV. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. ” “I began to be afraid you might not come at all. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. ’ ‘So I see. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. There was a look in her eyes which puzzled him.
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