He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. He could not tell by the look of her whether she was glad or sorry that presently she would be free. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. She felt flattered. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same.
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