“It was your own fault,” she exclaimed. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter. You two have a good time. “Well?” she said, sitting down again. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. . ‘Of course. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings.
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