" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. ’ ‘But tell,’ demanded Melusine impatiently. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. Ennison stood by her side. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. Once I banged on the door so hard I split it in two. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. “A sex of blacklegging clients.
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