” He saw her into the train at Waterloo, and stood, a tall, grave figure, with hat upraised, as the carriage moved forward slowly and hid him. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. Pearls in the dawn light, flashing and burning! "You don't like your island?" "I hate it!… But, there!"—weariness edging in. Only a book detective could dope this out.
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