’ Gerald knew the caress in his voice was a trifle ironic. Parbleu, but must she do this all through the house? Evidently she must, for not only could she not properly see the paintings and portraits that hung on the walls, but she was in imminent danger of bumping into the sheet-shrouded furniture. The fatal shower, from which he and his little charge escaped uninjured, had stricken his assailant and precipitated him into the boiling gulf. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. He hung vaguely for a moment as she passed.
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