The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. She further suspected that he might find a servant to dally with in the meantime, if he had not already. Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart. The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances.
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