" "Would you have had him spare my mother's murderer?" cried Winifred. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. Gerald glanced down and saw her dash at a spread of blood on his own hand, only now realising that her dagger had found its mark. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends.
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