“Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. Picked up the photograph, looked at it, handed it back, and never batted an eye! The act was as clear as daylight, but the motive was as profoundly mysterious as the race itself. Fell to sin, did Martha. "The Chevalier shall hear of this," whispered the woollen-draper. CHAPTER XXVIII. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. But she was staring seaward and did not notice the offering. And let us go on with our evening. "Where to, master?" asked Ben, touching his woollen cap.
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