But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. ’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. Her hair had become so matted that Sebastian had sheared it off, which made her the very mirage of a nubile young boy.
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