Besides, all's grist that comes to Mallory's mill.

He regards me as a type.

Ah!"-- as the door opened once more--"here they come." Her throat contracted with nervousness and she felt that it would be a physical impossibility for her to speak.

She turned mechanically as Penelope re-entered the room, followed by her husband and Peter Mallory.

Uppermost in Nan's mind was the thought, to which she clung as to a sheet-anchor, that of the three witnesses to this meeting between Peter and herself, the Fentons were ignorant of the fact that she cared for him, and Maryon, whatever he might suspect, had no certain knowledge.
The dreaded ordeal was quickly over.