"And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. He hadn't played fair. "Ah!" exclaimed Sir James. Always remember that. She reached for the door handle. He had sold half a dozen short tales to thirdrate magazines; but this letter had been issued from a distinguished editorial room, of international reputation. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. “Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said gently, “I am afraid that some fresh trouble has come to you. ‘Say it. . . He knew she had been weeping.
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