" "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. Her patience was waning fast. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. The dog-fox cannot be far off, since the cub is found. CHAPTER XVIII. First, look at this glove. It had been her home for hundreds of years. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently.
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