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All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. "Who—who is the Marquis de Chatillon?" "Your adopted son, Thames Darrell," answered Winifred. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. ’ Roding started. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. "You're inquisitive, young gentleman," replied Jackson, coldly. She reached the station, and mingling with a crowd of excursionists who had come from the river on the other side, took her place in the train unnoticed. All of which proves that the doctor also had his moments of distraction, with this difference: he was not distracted from his subject matter. Was the young lady impatient for experience? Was she adventurous? As a man of the world he did not think it becoming to accept maidenly calm as anything more than a mask.
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