In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. "Shall I shoot him?" "Yes! yes! put it to his ear!" cried Mrs. Perhaps, as you say, I do not really care—but I cannot do it. Just as he was preparing to follow, the wherry containing Rowland and his men, which had drifted in their wake, was dashed against his boat. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem.
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