I shall still wear your favor—even if it is a stolen and forbidden favor—in my casque. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. After all, Hilary must be near returned by now. But I did hear something else from Leah Goldblum. It is a precaution merely. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent.
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