Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle. . ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. His smile faded.
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