At his own image in the glass Wolf made a vicious grimace. But he held his tongue. What a different looking-glass this was from the one inherited from the woman who “believed in spirits”!⁠ ⁠… But he held his tongue; and by various crafty tricks he turned her thoughts to other channels. It was not till the middle of their breakfast that he deemed it advisable to refer again to the two hundred pounds.

“I’m afraid I must take that cheque back to Urquhart,” he remarked abruptly. “I have to live with myself, Gerda, as well as with you; and I couldn’t endure myself if I thought I’d been paid for a thing like that book.”

She put down her porridge-spoon and stared at him.

“Why did you do it, then, if not for the money⁠ ⁠… working every night and not speaking a word! Do you think this is any life for a girl?”