"I wonder," Rosmore answered slowly. "There is often a vein of romance in a woman which makes her blind. I have thought of this more than once when thinking of you."
"It would seem I have troubled you a great deal in one way or another,
Lord Rosmore."
"Some day, when you have forgotten that you were inclined to hate me, I may tell you how much. Yet there is one thing I might tell you now, as a friend, in case there should be much of this vein of romance in you."
"Yes, as a friend."
"Newgate—the trial day of the highwayman, Galloping Hermit."
He spoke abruptly, after a moment's pause, and had his intention been to startle her he could hardly have employed a better method.
"I see you remember it," he said. "Lady Bolsover should not have taken you, it was no place for a woman—indeed, she and I almost quarrelled about it afterwards. You may remember I was with Lady Bolsover when that—that gentleman brought you out of the crowd, the mysterious person who did not want to be seen."
"Yes, I remember," she said quietly.
"A good-looking man, yet—"
"You knew him, Lord Rosmore?"