He saw three people: a young man at the piano, an elderly man smoking in a corner, and a young woman reclining in a chair, her eyes closed. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended. Her arms and feet were uncovered, and of almost skeleton thinness. She felt sticky and ashamed when he dropped her off a block away from the McCloskey house as she had requested. This way, Sir Rowland. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard's seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country.
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