She tried to be casual. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Only Gwen left a letter on the pincushion. You must think it over. I am the richest man in England. Perhaps once it had desired some other human being intolerably. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. " "A time may come when you will be gratified, Mr.
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