‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. Five minutes ago, his butler had entered the green saloon, an austere apartment, with dark forest-green wallpaper flocked with a swirling design, and heavy mahogany furniture. Fire; she was full of it. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. “I cannot but conclude,” he said, “that your errand involved the recital to my wife of some trouble in which you find yourself.
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