Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. It is only a matter of time before he presents himself to whoever has the deeds to Remenham House—a lawyer I presume—and claims that property for his wife’s. She cocked her head. ” She said, studying his face, which seemed to lose its childishness a little more with each day.
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