“All right?” he asked. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. “Lucy, I have to talk to you. All in a moment. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. You are to come home. Anna held out her hand, and he paused. . “You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. My servant. Nothing but the publicity of the place and the recollection of that terrible constituency kept him from attempting some perfectly respectful but unmistakable evidence of his sympathy. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. She tore open the envelope and read it. She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account.
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