She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. Lost in thought, Lucy barely heard Mrs. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. She’s got a great imagination. ‘Good. Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. Lucy thought he was the most handsome man in the entire world. Jonathan again seized her, when the door was thrown open, and Thames Darrell, followed by Mr. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. Can't I make you understand? Perhaps it sounds cruel to you; but we women often have to be cruel defensively. You cannot draw.
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