"You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. “I have to go out.
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