Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. It was she! The Dawn Pearl! He vaulted the veranda rail, careless now whether or not he was heard, and ran down to the beach. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. He contrasted with Russell, whose intellectual methods were, so to speak, sceptically dogmatic. Her breath came fast in little sobbing pants. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again.
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