What passed between them I cannot think—I dare not. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. As he balanced the photograph, a humorous twinkle came into his eyes. I could not dream of loving you. It distressed and confused her that the girl should not come to her. ‘Was you following, too, miss?’ ‘Certainly I was following. He's had a hard knock somewhere; and until he is strong enough to walk, we must keep his interest away from that thought. There is only Gerald to see me, after all.
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