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" "Be it so!" rejoined Sir Rowland, with concentrated fury; "but before we do part, I am resolved to know the name of your pretended husband!" "Torture shall not wrest it from me," answered his sister, firmly. "What's that to you?" retorted Jack, surlily. “Quite on my own,” she said. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. You do not need my compliments. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. ‘Sapristi,’ he gasped. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed.
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