her knitting. Aaron sat next to her. He poured water into his glass,
and drank.

"It's warm in here," he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.

"Yes, it is. You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,"
replied the landlady.

"No," he said, "I think I'll take it off."

She watched him as he hung up his overcoat. He wore black clothes, as
usual. As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
shoulders, and the form of his legs. Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed
to arch itself. She made a little place for him by herself, as he
returned. She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless self-
sufficiency.

There were several colliers in the room, talking quietly. They
were the superior type all, favoured by the landlady, who loved
intellectual discussion. Opposite, by the fire, sat a little,
greenish man--evidently an oriental.

"You're very quiet all at once, Doctor," said the landlady in her
slow, laconic voice.

"Yes.--May I have another whiskey, please?" She rose at once,
powerfully energetic.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. And she went to the bar.