"Bless your soul, no, a thousand times no." The little rogue seemed to speak with unusual warmth. "Why, she loathes cards, she never can be got to join in. She has suffered too much from gambling."
He went out of the room slowly and into the night. Spencer half pitied the poor devil who had made such a hash of his life through his desire to step out of his own class. He sat down and ruminated a long time over the strange history which had been unfolded to him.
The next morning, the fugitive, Tommy Esmond, caught the morning train from Charing Cross. He looked very sad and woebegone, a pitiable figure, friendless and alone.
But not quite friendless. A young woman closely-veiled and dressed very plainly rose up from one of the seats as he came on the platform, and touched him lightly on the arm. He recognised her, and glanced round anxiously.
"It was very dear and sweet of you to come, Stella, but very imprudent. You might be seen by half a dozen people."
"I know," answered Miss Keane, for the closely-veiled woman was she. "I got your letter this morning and could not bear you should go without a last good-bye. Well, I can see you are anxious. I will say it, and get back."
She lifted the veil for a second, and held up her face. The little man kissed her hastily, and then made for his train.
It was evident he had one friend left in the London he was flying from as a fugitive and outlaw, one woman who pitied him.
And, at the same time that Stella was walking swiftly from the station, Guy Spencer was making up his mind that he would pay a visit to Elsinore Gardens in the afternoon, to see how the land lay there.