As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world.
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