He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. ‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. Proof that the scoundrel had risen from the dead—for he was dead to his father! He glared at the female whose appearance in England had revived those painful memories—churning unbearably since Brewis Charvill had brought him the news and put him in the worst of tempers—and the fury spilled out.
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