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‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. I once might have married you for your beauty,—now I marry you for your wealth. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. ” “And who made the arrangements for you, and sent you there?” Courtlaw asked.
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