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. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. “You will go and see her,” he begged. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. I'm a stickler about clothes and clean chins. She is, in her way, a dear. Tell me I haven’t heard. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her.
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