"My name is Darrell," said the fugitive hastily. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. But in this posture he fared worse than ever. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. ’ He shifted unguardedly, and hissed a breath, wincing. His eyes were fixed upon the tablecloth.
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