” He said. . ’ The sergeant’s air became positively avuncular. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. Her sister had told him that it was true. ” “Well?” “I went from Anna’s flat to Nigel Ennison’s rooms. " "With all his cunning, he may meet with his match," continued Kneebone, laughing. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. I’m sorry. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. ’ His colour deepened. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory.
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