Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said. She would rend him limb from limb like a fiend if only she could move. Father— dead. Gerald at once lowered his voice to that intimate level again, and leaned towards her. ’ He let her go. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. ’ ‘Captain Roding, sir,’ put in Gerald, adding on a jocular note, ‘Another of the green whippersnappers you had to contend with some years back. But she was not to be tempted. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. What is done cannot be undone. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. "If I were so, I should not be here," returned Trenchard. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies.
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