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” “I sent a telegram to say I was all right. She were that miserable. ’ ‘Yes, but when I think about this, I do not think I can do so,’ she said candidly. ’ Gerald frowned. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. “Why should women be dependent on men?” she asked; and the question was at once converted into a system of variations upon the theme of “Why are things as they are?”—“Why are human beings viviparous?”—“Why are people hungry thrice a day?”—“Why does one faint at danger?” She stood for a time looking at the dry limbs and still human face of that desiccated unwrapped mummy from the very beginnings of social life. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. ’ ‘As a matter of fact, it isn’t,’ conceded Gerald. We may be stopped. ‘Think it’s worth getting some sort of light and following her down there?’ asked Roding.
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