" "Then it was not a dream!" ejaculated Sir Rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. "Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland. We all have to kow-tow to that.
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