'Was there none?' she asked languidly.
'None—and I had to leave my luggage there.'
'Dear me—how negligent—eh, Fifine, was it not?' said she, toying with the ears of her cur.
'Negligent, indeed,' added Roland, his brow darkening. 'Yet I read your letter—or telegram was it?—to Mr. Sharpe.'
'You read my letter to—Mr. Sharpe?'
'At least that portion of it referring to your return.'
'Mr.—what's his name?—Sharpe had better act up to his cognomen while I have to do with him. I am accustomed to be obeyed.'
'Like the Centurion in the Scriptures—dear me!'
'Exactly,' said Roland, feeling that there was mockery in her tone or thoughts.
'If not?'