She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. "I'm afraid we'll have to dig into his trunk," he said. The thing rankled in her mind night and day. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her.
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