There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. Even now she was dazed. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise.
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