He looked at his friend. He stole his chance and thrust his hand towards hers. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. The overnight nervous strain began to tell; she became inattentive to the work before her, and it did not get on. Nor Jacques. ‘Do not beg his pardon,’ intervened Melusine quickly, coming between them. "The youth whom you delivered to Van Galgebrok,—Thames Darrell, is returned. I've just left your nephew. A dissipated, loose-living man.
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