But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. We’ll have some buttered toast. She could not feel her own body. “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. It might prove rewarding.
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