‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. “Go it, miss!” cried one. He drew her to him and tipped her chin towards him. Then a light seemed to break in upon him. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. He would come swiftly to her aid, she knew it.
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