"Well, Sir?" gasped Sir Rowland. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably. It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Brendon,” she said, “if I could ask for advice, or borrow money from any one, I would from you—there! But I cannot.
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