“I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. To her satisfaction, the captain reddened a trifle. There was some one there. It was a moment or two before Gerald realised that he could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the light touch he had on her wrist, and that her fingers were trembling in his. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade. I shall now be able to test my skill.
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