‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. "No matter. ‘You obstinate little devil. Something seemed awry. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. ” The conversation hung. " "Thames Ditton—is that your name?" "No," replied the boy, impatiently; "Darrell—Thames Darrell. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject.
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