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He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. Somebody ought to talk to him, warn him. On this side a flight of wooden steps, protected by a hand-rail, led to a door opening upon the summit of the prison. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book.
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