It may be true, but it doesn't sound like it." Trent's under-lip was twitching, a sure sign of the tempest within, but he kept himself under restraint and said never a word.
Francis continued, "Now I do not wish to be your enemy, Scarlett Trent, or to do you an ill turn, but this is my word to you.

Produce Monty within a week and open reasonable negotiations for treating him fairly, and I will keep silent.

But if you can't produce him at the end of that time I must go to his relations and lay all these things before them." Trent rose slowly to his feet.
"Give me your address," he said, "I will do what I can." Francis tore a leaf from his pocket-book and wrote a few words upon it.
"That will find me at any time," he said.

"One moment, Trent.

When I saw you first you were with--a lady." "Well!" "I have been away from England so long," Francis continued slowly, "that my memory has suffered.