Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. A dull light shone through the open window blinds and softened the room with parchment yellowness. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. “Lady Mackinnor,” she said, “I am sure that you must have heard of Mr. “What nonsense is this? What raving! My dear child, you DO live, you DO exist! You have this home. His relation of the murder of Sir Rowland petrified even his fierce auditors.
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