‘That was one of my own clever stories. She had been fighting down this thought for days: that Hoddy did not care, that he did not love her, that he had mistaken a vagary of the mind for a substance, and now regretted what he had done— married a girl who was not his equal in anything. The windows of these rooms were obscured with draperies, their floors a carpet patchwork; the china ornaments on their mantels were of a class apart. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. ” She led the way to the door, and Manning passed behind her and round her and opened the door for her. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. The spy—if there was one hiding out in the late Jarvis Remenham’s empty house—would be taken unawares.
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