“Eight, Cavendish Square. 175 “Before you tell me the whole story,” she emphasized the penultimate word, “just let me do something for you. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. Now how in the world was he to get rid of the husband? His luck was in. Capes sat down in the armchair beside her. Meantime, the lady had overtaken them; but, terrified by the menaces of her vindictive kinsmen, she did not dare to reveal herself to her husband, of whose concealment on the roof of the very house the party were searching she was aware. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly.
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