” “I may have to run,” said her father, with an appeal to his watch. “You’re an idiot and your attitude is repugnant. “Was I that bad?” He asked. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have some misgivings cross him. ” He looked at her gravely. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely.
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