A snarl contorted his features, and he marched up to it, laying his pistol down on the marquetry table so that his hands were free to grab the picture off the wall. Montague Hill was taken for the millionaire once or twice, and I suppose it flattered his vanity. “Anything is better than this—this stifled life down here. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. I'll wait here. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. “What were you doing?” Her voice was a little hysterical.
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