“Mary Lucia. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. ’ ‘I know,’ he said, smiling. The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. Her father was an astute businessman and a hard worker, but also handsome in the face which had aided partly his ascension to the Guild. I don’t suggest any philanthropy. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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