All the more dearly because of that vision, should Joan Whitworth pay, the shining armour of her young beauty be pierced, her pride be humbled, her indifference turned to shame.
"I can't think, my lady--unless it was Miss Whitworth's." "I asked you to mark the time, Jenny.

A few minutes after midnight.

Miss Whitworth was at that moment in the supper-room at Harrel.

She was seen there.

The woman's voice which answered was either Mrs.Croyle's or yours." Nothing could have been quieter or gentler than Millie Splay's utterance.