... carriage without in the avenue; it stops. Our friend Morice, no doubt."
He turned, with a sneer, to meet the expected host whom they had forestalled.
But it was not Morice Conyers who stood in the doorway, but his sister Gabrielle, her hood flung back from her dark hair, cheeks flushed, and hazel eyes defiant.
She scarcely deigned to bestow a glance at the man before her, but looked past him eagerly.
"Morice!" she cried. "Morice!"
Then swiftly she turned to Denningham.
"Where is my brother?" she asked peremptorily.