Suppose our proper place is a shrine. ’ ‘Yes, but I’m afraid I am far too interested to stop mixing myself in your affairs,’ Gerald said ruefully. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. 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. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole.
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