Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. You tried bravely enough to hide your preference, to look at us all with the same eyes, to speak to us in the same tone. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. But here,—even here, the demon was suffered to intrude, and Jack's thoughts were distracted by Jonathan Wild, who stood at a little distance from him, and kept his bloodthirsty eyes fixed on him during the whole of the service. " "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, paralysed by her cries. “Do you want some of mine?” “Yes.
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