Rhea spun round and sank her teeth into Lucy’s arm. Unless he can arise from the bottom of the Thames, where he and his abhorred father lie buried, you will never behold him again in this world. The odds were astounding and yet he had it bad. And she felt that if she went home it was imperative to pay. The horror of those few minutes was still with her. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher.
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