He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. She looked at him mournfully. The condition of the rooms was indescribably filthy and disgusting; nor were the habits of the occupants much more cleanly. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. ’ A grimace crossed her face. After all, this could never be the black sheep. He breathed a little sigh of satisfaction.
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