She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. There must be something behind the missioner's actions, something of which the girl knew nothing nor suspected. "How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Cheveney walked away with a shrug of the shoulders.
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