Suspicion was in his face. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. His fears supplied him with unwonted vigour. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. “Very well,” he said. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. And they could talk, they found; and never once, it seemed, did their meaning and intention hitch.
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