Beatrice’s lips parted, and her eyes winced. She put out her hand hesitatingly towards Ralph, and dropped it again as he moved a little towards her.
“You hear him?” said Ralph.
“I do not understand,” said the girl, “your brother—”
“Yes, I am his brother, God help me,” snarled Chris.
Beatrice’s lips closed again, and a look of contempt came into her face.
“I have heard enough, Mr. Torridon. Will you come with me?”
Chris moved forward a step.
“I do not know who you are, madam,” he said, “but do you understand what this gentleman is? Do you know that he is a creature of Master Cromwell’s?”
“I know everything,” said Beatrice.
“And you were at Tyburn, too?” questioned Chris bitterly, “perhaps with this brother of mine?”