“She must,” said Mr. ‘Of course the fellow has doubtless stayed put to wait for you,’ retorted Hilary. A sob was strangled in her throat. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. 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. She gazed steadily out of the window at that arc of glittering lights. Grace à Leonardo, she could defend herself now! Gosse was still attempting to manhandle the door, when she turned the key and wrenched it open.
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