"Is this her work?" "It is," answered Thames. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. “Dear friend,” she said, “do not magnify me into a physiological problem. Leonardo would not have married her. Could she go through with it? She must. ” Mr.
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