” Lucy said, leading him upstairs behind her. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. ” He said, uncrossing his arms. It wasn’t. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. ‘Well, young man,’ he said, ‘we haven’t seen you lately,’ and something about ‘Bateson & Co. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery.
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