Who walked you home?\" Mike asked her, his voice tinged with jealousy, as she passed the garlic bread. His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. She did not want to feel such negative emotion towards any member of her foster family. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. “You will be so good as to leave us your correct name and address, mademoiselle,” he said curtly. As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. “Have you heard things?” The tears stood in her eyes.
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