Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. He was looking pale and ill. He was always tenderly courteous; he answered her ordinary questions readily and her extraordinary ones patiently; he always rose when she entered or left the room. She made lumpish and inadequate interruptions rather than replies. “Troubles, my friend,” she exclaimed lightly. One don't often get sich a vindfal as the Markis——" "Or such a customer as Mr.
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