But he was a thief, a fugitive from justice. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. He was a stranger. ‘How did you guess?’ ‘I guessed as soon as you said this was your house. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs.
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