And now she had sent Jack away. Either it was an unfortunate recovery of a trail, or he had followed her from Mayfair. ‘And I suppose I shall be obliged to endure another nonsensical tale about your husband. Come up stairs, and take a glass of brandy. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. She pocketed the sum total of his ready cash, about fortyeight dollars. His advice was mostly practical. “You underestimate your own sickness, and the ill humors that struck you may strike again. Certainly I cannot kill you if you tell me to do so. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family.
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