Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. She went to her own table and sat down. Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. At the same time she was wildly exultant at the resolution she had taken, the end she had made to her blunder. But he did not follow on with the thought. “You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?” Anna hesitated.
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