“Thank you for excusing me. Of course, I rely upon the discretion of yourself and friend. Adieu.”
“Adieu,” and he left with curses and deadly threats in his breast.
“Had man ever such luck!” he hissed, as he strode by the house, glancing up at the well-lit balcony and drawing-room, from which he turned with an involuntary shudder. “Curse the old idiot, but I’ll serve him out for this presently. I wonder whether the old dancing-master cares for his girl and boy? Well,” he added, with a peculiar smile, “we shall soon see.”
Volume Two—Chapter Fourteen.
At the Card-Table.
“Friends?” Richard Linnell was saying, as he stood looking earnestly at Claire. “Nothing more?”
“No,” she said, in a low, sad voice; “always, come what may, your grateful friend.”
She turned to her sister, who was watching her, and met her with: