I should like to have had you forgive me. " "Piano-player? Do you mean someone who plays for you?" "No, no; one of those mechanical things you play with your feet. "He's dead," exclaimed Austin. " Sir Rowland looked at her for a moment, as if he meditated some terrible reply. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered.
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