“Let us go to that little place at the back of the Palace. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. With this she now entered. I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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