She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. Where was the expected message from this captain, who had promised to send her word at the instant Gerald returned to town. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. The other was to go into business—into a photographer’s reception-room, for example, or a costumer’s or hat-shop. “How did you find me?” She asked. “I mean REALLY independent. Fast asleep, he is. A strong coarse man, and there were things in his eyes which made my blood run cold with terror. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. What would it be without that safeguard?” Ogilvy pursued his own topic. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. He cocked an eyebrow.
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