"I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. " "As you will," said Jonathan, seating himself. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. Always as black and bitter as gall. " O'Higgins threw out his chest, gave it a pat, and smiled. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her.
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