" "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Sheila had dropped glaring hints that she knew, which Chuck tacitly acknowledged with a lowered gaze. At the farther end of the Lodge, the floor was raised to the height of a couple of steps; whence the whole place, with the exception of the remotest corner of the angle before-mentioned, could be commanded at a single glance. “Cheveney wouldn’t have anything to say about it, as it happens,” he remarked, a little grimly. Nothing is wrong that you do. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. It 163 invariably leads to trouble. But two weeks later he returned. ’ ‘Ah. ‘Again?’ Another simple parry.
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