Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. She could feel Martin’s eyes boring into her as she entered the room, her own personal Farhat. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. If I’m late again I’ll have to serve another detention!” She excused herself, hoping it was not too obvious she was running away. “She has never 96 once contacted me. " His demeanour was polished; his manners singularly affable and gentle; and he was remarkable, for the generosity of his temper. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. “The first is to discover what she is here for, and where she is staying. But it is the truth.
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