Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. "You speak English better than I do," said O'Higgins, as the coolies jogged across the bridge toward the gate. She got up and unlocked the door. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. All right, I’m coming. I do wish you could come and dine with us some evening. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way.
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