There’s no sense in morality, I suppose, unless you are fundamentally immoral. I was quite as much annoyed as you were to see Mr. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. I am a physician first, which gives the man in me a secondary part. He knew my name, and also that I had been living in Paris, and a man doesn’t risk claiming a girl for his wife, as a rule, for nothing. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall.
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