Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Secretly she was gratified to be assigned to the rôle of an old traveller. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he shaped his course towards the west end of the town. ” “You will shake hands with me, please,” she begged. Earles said, with a resigned sigh, “but I shall rely upon you to stick to me so long as I do the right thing by you. My reception at West Kensington you know of. ‘I am done, Gérard.
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