"Well reminded," answered Rowland, who had witnessed his struggles with a smile of gratified vengeance; "I had forgotten the accursed imp in this confusion. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. She had been in the drawing-room for a few minutes before the gong had sounded, and had chattered gaily to every one. I’ll kill you, Sheila, and I’ll kill her too.
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