The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. He drew a little breath and stepped back. She hoped fervently that Martin had not divulged his crush to Brown. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. He contrasted the lot of women in general with the lot of men, presented men as patient, self-immolating martyrs, and women as the pampered favorites of Nature. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. To fight inertia on the one hand and to study this queer girl on the other. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. Obviously he is still interested.
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