She felt she had to go on. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. Tea in the laboratory was a sort of suffragette reception. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage.
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