She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. It was wrenched away from Melusine’s clutching hands.
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