She saw his purpose and his doubt hesitated also, and then went to him, took his coat lapels, and kissed him on the cheek. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. He remained listening attentively. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. Maybe half a year, counting this summer.
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