‘You are the one that I have met in London. But I'm not worrying about that. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. I thought then perhaps you didn’t care, that you were like so many of them. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. He handed her a cheque for thirty-one pounds, ten shillings, and read the agreement through to her. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent.
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