She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. But the vicomte has said that his sister may remain, but that the daughter must go. Well, if she survives the accident—as the blood, who styles himself Sir Cecil, fancies she may do—this ring will make my fortune by leading to the discovery of the chief parties concerned in this strange affair. It'll be advertised to-morrow. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. "I told you I was not unprotected. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something.
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