He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. After a while he spoke again. As I hope for mercy, I speak the truth!— let him deny it if he can. She refrained. They were terrible, horrible people. His literary instincts were reviving. ‘We will converse in your own tongue,’ he said in French as he led her away. ‘I assure you it suits her as Mary would not. An entire forest’s array of meats was served in courses brought out to the table. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. Let him be sure. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. She was going through a new world with him side by side. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes.
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