The tired woman looked quietly at her. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. He then unlocked a cabinet, opened a secret drawer, and, lifter ransacking its contents, discovered a paper he was in search of, and a glove. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. His father spoke for him. If you received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with your written explanation. You, Anna, are one of them. Won’t you let me—can’t I be of any assistance?” He was obviously in earnest.
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