Balm of Gilead and the _Monarchic_.
She was in love with him. Hideously, desperately, overwhelmingly in
love with him, just as ridiculous girls always were with men they
oughtn't to think of. Probably he had tried to make her so at first
with his friendly, chivalrous ways that hid blacknesses underneath.
She had escaped, thanks to his sister. And it looked as if those
horrid hints had indeed been true, otherwise he would not have
troubled to persist after his snubbing. For he had persisted. Some
glint of blue light in the steady eyes told her that. This was not a
coincidence. Mr. Rolls had the air of having found her at last. She
must make him sorry for it. Because, after her experience of the other
man who had persisted--though she thought herself forgotten--why
should she hope against hope that this man was different?
At last the customer, who did not hurry in the least--rather the
contrary--wore all excuses for lingering to shreds, she waddled fatly
away, carrying the lace cloak with her; and Win, not shirking the
ordeal as she had done when Jim Logan haunted Toyland, turned to Peter
Rolls.
CHAPTER XXV
A PIECE OF HER MIND
"Miss Child, I've been looking for you for months!" were Peter's first
words when he had her to himself.
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