And now— I suppose I should be considered too old. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. Fascination. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. You can have no shecrets from me. "By all means," rejoined Quilt. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. In the pause a door could be heard opening and closing on the landing up-stairs. Predictably, Charvill turned on him.
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