Perhaps she did love research for its own sake, she was certainly gifted enough. . She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. He was yellow and coarse of hair; flea-bitten, too; and even as he smiled at Ruth and wagged his stumpy tail, he was forced to turn savagely upon one of these disturbers who had no sense of the fitness of things. Her father was an astute businessman and a hard worker, but also handsome in the face which had aided partly his ascension to the Guild. But the cases were not identical. " While he was thus musing, he fancied he heard the lock tried.
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