Slowly Prudence Sindlesham nodded her head, her eyes never leaving his face. “Non. "What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. Let me only wear your livery. "No, no, Sir," replied Ireton. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared.
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