“Ha. You have everything here that you want?”
“Everything.”
“He’s in your hands, Gannet.”
The earl was conducted to a sitting-room, where Dr. Gannet left him for a while.
Mindful that he was under the roof of his enemy, he remained standing, observing nothing.
The voice overheard was off at a prodigious rate, like the far sound of a yell ringing on and on.
The earl unconsciously sought a refuge from it by turning the leaves of a book upon the table, which was a complete edition of Harry Denham’s Poems, with a preface by a man named Lydiard; and really, to read the preface one would suppose that these poets were the princes of the earth. Lord Romfrey closed the volume. It was exquisitely bound, and presented to Miss Denham by the Mr. Lydiard. “The works of your illustrious father,” was written on the title-page. These writers deal queerly with their words of praise of one another. There is no law to restrain them. Perhaps it is the consolation they take for the poor devil’s life they lead!
A lady addressing him familiarly, invited him to go upstairs.
He thanked her. At the foot of the stairs he turned; he had recognized Cecilia Halkett.
Seeing her there was more strange to him than being there himself; but he bowed to facts.