He stuck out his long legs and sunk his hands in his pockets. He was tall and slim and elegant. At each gesture she was more than ever his slave—it brought back remembrance. Her eyes hardly left his face—dark, sallow, cruel. A sardonic-looking man, with silky black hair half veiling his scoffing mouth, and sleepy eyes which seemed always to be mocking.
“Haven’t you ever heard,” he asked airily, “of a ticket-of-leave?”
She shivered as she answered, well down in her dry throat, “I think so.”
“Tell me how you came here, and what part I’m expected to play. I’m down on my luck at present, and you may be able to help me. Look at these clothes.” He touched the sacklike cloth. “Nothing but paper. The first shower would reduce me to pulp.”
“I came here,” she said, “in answer to an advertisement. A man—the man who owns this house—wanted a wife.”
“Whew! Such is the faithfulness of woman! But it was clever of you—confoundedly clever.”
“Don’t! It nearly killed me. He is so kind, so fond of me. He believes I am his cousin—his mother was a Crisp. There are other confirming details. Very likely I am his cousin—that doesn’t matter. They have all been kind—my new relations. They think that he advertised for information about his mother’s brother—who disappeared in early life—and that I, as a surviving child, answered. They never troubled for fuller proof; they take my word——”
“Very useful people!”
“That flippant tongue of yours,” she flashed out, “brings back bitter memories.”
“Never mind memories—no time for them. Go on with your story. At present I’m uncomfortable; don’t know my ground. If he should come in——”