” “I wonder how he treated Gwen. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. If the Wastrel had not turned the instant he did, the ball would have missed him; as it was he turned directly into its path. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. “Dear me!” he said. I see. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. In the retrospect she was amazed to think how things had gone to pieces, for at the outset she had been quite prepared to go home again upon terms.
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