From “Good-bye, Sweetheart” to “Hereward the Last of the English” was a far cry, but he had gathered a curious collection of ideas by the way, and with characteristic everyday reasoning had linked them to his own experiences. “The women in the Hereward book made me think of Lady Joan,” he remarked, suddenly. “Torfreda?” the duke asked. He nodded quite seriously. “She had ways that reminded me of her, and I kept thinking they must both have had the same look in their eyes--sort of fierce and hungry. Torfreda had black hair and was a winner as to looks; but people were afraid of her and called her a witch. Hereward went mad over her and she went mad over him. That part of it was 'way out of sight, it was so fine. She helped him with his fights and told him what to do, and tried to keep him from drinking and bragging. Whatever he did, she never stopped being crazy about him. She mended his men's clothes, and took care of their wounds, and lived in the forest with him when he was driven out.” “That sounds rather like Miss Hutchinson,” his host suggested, “though the parallel between a Harlem flat and an English forest in the eleventh century is not exact.” “I thought that, too,” Tembarom admitted. “Ann would have done the same things, but she'd have done them in her way. If that fellow had taken his wife's advice, he wouldn't have ended with his head sticking on a spear.” “Another lady, if I remember rightly,” said the duke. “He left her, the fool!” Tembarom answered. “And there's where I couldn't get away from seeing Lady Joan; Jem Temple Barholm didn't go off with another woman, but what Torfreda went through, this one has gone through, and she's going through it yet. She can't dress herself in sackcloth, and cut off her hair, and hide herself away with a bunch of nuns, as the other one did. She has to stay and stick it out, however bad it is. That's a darned sight worse. The day after I'd finished the book, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I tried to stop it, but it was no use. I kept hearing that Torfreda one screaming out, `Lost! Lost! Lost!' It was all in her face.” “But, my good fellow,” protested the duke, despite feeling a touch of the thrill again, “unfortunately, she would not suspect you of looking at her because you were recalling Torfreda and Hereward the Wake. Men stare at her for another reason.” “That's what I know about half as well again as I know anything else,” answered Tembarom. He added, with a deliberation holding its own meaning, “That's what I'm coming to.” The duke waited. What was it he was coming to?