There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The man had favoured him with a brief nod, but the girl had gone so far as to offer a tiny smile, and a look under her lashes with which not even Gerald, for all his scant interest in female society, could fail to be familiar. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. He was in love with her! She tried to grasp all the welter of values in the situation simultaneously, and draw some conclusion from their disorder. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. They had scarcely gained the adjoining cellar when Jonathan and the Jew rushed past in the direction of the vault.
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