"I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames. “I am bored,” she said abruptly. Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. ‘But if there is one, how in the world did this mystery lady of yours know of it?’ ‘That, Lucy, is precisely the point that has been exercising my mind,’ Gerald said, turning his eyes once more to the group of French exiles in the alcove. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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