She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. CHAPTER VIII. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class. Morgan the trader did not haggle over the pearls, but gave me at once what he judged a fair price. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. They did not have to wait long.
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