At any rate, he began to deliberately personate him. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. Also he had said—laughing in that way with his eyes which made a flutter in her chest— that Prudence will find an Englishman to marry her. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. He flung aside all his talk of help and disinterested friendship as though it had never been even a disguise between them, as though from the first it was no more than a fancy dress they had put quite understandingly upon their relationship. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea.
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