” He left her where she was, crying in the doorway. “I find it very hard to write this letter. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. He found the wall, as he suspected, solidly constructed of brick and stone; and with the slight and inadequate tools which he possessed, it was a work of infinite labour and skill to get out a single brick. ‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. If he keeps his word, I'll keep mine.
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