He shrugged and, to Gerald’s relief, made to leave at last. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. Gerald pressed against the wall, and signalled Roding to go to the other side of the door. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Anna was afterwards astonished at her own selfpossession. We WERE thieves. .
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