Where can we sit down and talk?” He led her across the room towards a window recess, in which a tall, fair young man was seated with an evening paper in his hand. Wood fancied he recognised. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. I hope that some day he'll understand how much he owes you. Nor Jacques. Then a ride to London on horseback.
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