The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. ’ Hilary Roding groaned, but obediently followed Gerald as he began to make his way through the trees towards the back to a vantage point from where they might examine the rear of Remenham House. It is to set me right with Winifred. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Farewell. Take them, and may they prove as serviceable to you as I desire.
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