Some poorly-framed prints on the walls (a little out of place perhaps in a doctor's house) represented portraits of famous actresses, who had been queens of the stage in the early part of the present century.

The few books, too, collected on a little shelf above the chimney-piece, were in every case specimens of dramatic literature.

"Who reads these plays ?" Mountjoy asked himself.

"And how did Iris find her way into this house ?" While he was thinking of her, Miss Henley entered the room.
Her face was pale and careworn; tears dimmed her eyes when Mountjoy advanced to meet her.

In his presence, the horror of his brother's death by assassination shook Iris as it had not shaken her yet.
Impulsively, she drew his head down to her, with the fond familiarity of a sister, and kissed his forehead.