ed his hand, and she was caught by the wrist and told
that the scene awaited her.

"Let them wait!" she shouted, and, sharpening her cry as she was dragged
off, "Dare to take that girl to Italy! I know what that means, with you.
An Englishman might mean right--but you! You think you've been dealing
with a fool! Why, I can stop this in a minute, and I will. It's you're
the fool! Why, I know her father: he plays in the orchestra. I know her
name--Belloni!"

Up sprang the Greek like a galvanized corpse; while two violent jerks
from the man hauling her out rattled the laugh of triumph which burst
from her. At the same time Wilfrid strove forward, with the frown of
one still bent listening, and he and Pericles were face to face. The
eyebrows of the latter shot up in a lively arch. He made a motion
toward the ceremony of 'shake-hands;' but, perceiving no correspondent
overture, grinned, "It is warm--ha?"

"You feel the heat? Step outside a minute," said Wilfrid.

"Oh, no!" Mr. Pericles looked pleasantly sagacious. "Ze draught--a
cold."

"Will you come?" pursued Wilfrid.

"Many sanks!"

Wilfrid's hand was rising. At this juncture his brother officer slipped
out some languid words in his ear, indicative of his astonishment that
he should be championing a termagant, and horror at the idea of such
a thing being publicly imagined, tamed Wilfrid quickly. He recovered
himself with his usual cleverness. Seeing the signs of hostility vanish,
Mr. Pericles said, "You are on a search for your father? You have
found him? Hom! I should say a maladie of nerfs will come to him. A pin
fall--he start! A storm at night--he is out dancing among his ships of
venture! Not a bid of corage!--which is bad. If you shall find Mr. Pole
for to-morrow on ze lawn, vary glad."

With a smile compounded of sniffing dog and Parisian obsequiousness,
Mr. Pericles passed, thinking "He has not got her:" for such was his
deduction if he saw that a man could flush for a woman's name.

Wilfrid stood like a machine with a thousand wheels in revolt.
Sensations pricked at ideas, and immediately left them to account for
their existence as they best could. The ideas committed suicide without
a second's consideration. He felt the great gurgling sea in which they
were drowned heave and throb. Then came a fresh set, that poised better
on the slack-rope of his understanding. By degrees, a buried dread in
his brain threw off its shroud. The thought that there was so