On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap.
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