Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. He never appears to so little advantage as when speaking of him. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. Kneebone made no effort to check the unreasonable merriment of his companions, but rather seemed to encourage it. The boy would naturally attract the women, if the women were at all romantic. Everything had so far come to pass as the withered old Kanaka woman had foretold. But what did he know beyond these facts? Nothing, clearly.
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