He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. From me. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. She was still good at following orders. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Manning, with a sweep of the arm.
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