" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Just as he had told Gerald would be the case, there was nothing of interest to hear, especially as he had met the girl in London only last night. She was lamentably without comparisons; such few young men as she had seen—white men—had been on the beach, pitiful and terrible objects. ’ Joan sniffed. " "Not now—not now!" she returned, with a shudder.
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