“Please forgive me coming up, Miss Pellissier, but you have not been down to dinner for three nights, and—Brendon and I—we were afraid that you might be unwell. That’s as far as we go. . ’ To her astonishment, Gosse’s servile attitude vanished abruptly. He had found Spurlock. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. ‘Comment? What do you say?’ Gerald looked down into her face, and found himself touched by the uncertainty he saw there. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Her canines had receded, but were still 166 prominent. “Your best route will be via Boulogne and Folkestone at nine o’clock from the Gare du Nord. But, like all your overbearing sex, you must have your own way.
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