"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. When they started getting on each other’s nerves, she blamed herself at first. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. He’d borne mention of the woman’s name. “That,” he said, grimly, with his hand on the doorhandle, “must be your own affair, unless you choose to live at Morningside Park. ‘Melusine. “Would you wait for me?” Manning was silent for a space.
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