“It may not be just and so forth, but, after all, it is how things are. A good woman’s mind has angels with flaming swords at the portals to keep out fallen thoughts. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. The man’s statement was explicit, and spoken with confidence. “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. I wonder——” He turned slowly round. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly.
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