“More than that, he arrived to-day at the boarding-house where I am staying, greeted me with a theatrical start, and claimed me—as his wife. Both started. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. " As he said this, in a low and mournful, but firm voice, the tears gathered thickly in Winifred's dark eyelashes. But think of the disillusionment! Except for our sex we have minds like men, desires like men.
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