“I don’t see what he has to do with my coming to London?” “He—he worships the ground you tread on. We'll have him yet. A glance sufficed to show the young man how matters stood. ’ A derisive snort greeted this passage. He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. Trenchard glanced at the document. Abruptly would come the end. . ’ ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears.
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