She would ignore him. . She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. Waving a white flag, naturally. What a heat that news had wrought. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. Her hand came up and she laced her fingers with his. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. "You have behaved like a man of honour, Sir Rowland," said Wild, after he had twice told over the money. CHAPTER XXI. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs. She could not say who, not yet. .
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