“His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. I know he is dead. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. He ignored her protests in order to pursue some impressive line of his own. His tone was kind and sympathetic. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. Having ascertained that a vessel sails for France from the river at daybreak to-morrow morning, I have secured a passage in her, and have already had the few effects I possess, conveyed on board.
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