He walked with bent head. ” He shook her hands off almost roughly. How old are you?” She asked. Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. Shall we sit outside and drink a petit verre of something to give us an appetite while dinner is being prepared?” “Certainly not,” she answered. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re playing at?’ ‘Let me alone, man,’ Gerald muttered under his breath. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair. I’ve made up my mind. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed. He drew out the check and the editorial letter. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose.
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