” “Will you tell me,” Sir John said ponderously, “by what right you call that young lady—la petite Pellissier? I should be glad to know how you dare to allude to her in a public place in such a disrespectful manner!” Drummond looked at him and smiled. And Gosse had been still there, so Martha said, and not in prison. After all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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