” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours. " Miserably his thoughts shuttled to and fro in search of what he knew she wanted —a love story. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. " "Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn't been for him. Presently he heard her voice. A remittance man. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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