The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. “You do not quite understand,” she said gently. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. Even he was not oblivious to it, and after about two minutes of awkward French kissing, he pulled away. " "Be it so!" rejoined Sir Rowland, with concentrated fury; "but before we do part, I am resolved to know the name of your pretended husband!" "Torture shall not wrest it from me," answered his sister, firmly. "That's usual. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. “The other too if it is within my power. .
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