" She sent a covert glance toward the young man. It was a habit she had taken from Remenham House, but could not wear because of the colour which must draw attention. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. It was plain that a man of his age could only be interested for one reason alone, yet she felt compelled to at know him a little before the main event.
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