" "Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. The young lady with frizzled hair, whom Brendon had pointed out to her as Miss Ellicot, leaned forward from her hostess’s side. Barleycorn had sent to the mat for the count of nine: unless the young fool's daddy had a bundle of coin. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival.
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