" "From some of your associates?" "From your uncle, from my uncle,—Sir Rowland Trenchard. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Satisfied that he had solved his difficulty, he proceeded to his room. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. Hilary made a movement as if he would seize the opportunity to disarm the girl, but Gerald stopped him. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. The manager had sketched the girl's character, or rather had interpreted it, from the incidents which had happened since dinner.
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