Stanley considered. For a few moments, Thames regarded the little girl through the half-opened door in silence. He could not make good his hold. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. "I alone am to blame. Sir Rowland," he added, in a deep whisper, "do you agree to my terms?" "I do," answered Trenchard, in the same tone. Stanley coughed and faced toward the house. The City worried him a good deal, and what energy he had left over he spent partly in golf, a game he treated very seriously, and partly in the practices of microscopic petrography.
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