All the initial confidence in herself was gone; her courage was merely a shell to hide the lack. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. “But your hair,” he gasped. When Sheila was in a good mood, one almost enjoyed her. She would write to Gerald. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. She could not make up her mind which was the finer, more elemental thing, which gave its values to the other. ‘Precisely. "Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall. An influence of this description appeared to be exerted on the present occasion.
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