“I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. It was time to leave America. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual.
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