To feel perfectly
happy about this Council, there's just three as I should like to
see out of it--Fenn, Bright--and the young lady."
"Why the young lady?" Julian asked quickly.
"You might as well ask me, `Why Fenn and Bright?'" the other
replied. "I shouldn't make no answer. We're superstitious, you
know, we north country folk, and we are all for instincts. All I
can say to you is that there isn't one of those three I'd trust
around the corner."
"Miss Abbeway is surely above suspicion?" Julian protested. "She
has given up a great position and devoted the greater part of her
fortune towards the causes which you and I and all of us are
working for."
"There'd be plenty of work for her in Russia just now," Cross
observed.
"No person of noble birth," Julian reminded him, "has the
slightest chance of working effectively in Russia to-day.
Besides, Miss Abbeway is half English. Failing Russia, she would
naturally select this as the country in which she could do most
good."
Some retort seemed to fade away upon the other's lips. His shaggy
eyebrows were drawn a little closer together as he glanced towards
the door. Julian followed the direction of his gaze. Catherine
had entered and was looking around as though in search of some
one.
Catherine was more heavily veiled than usual. Her dress and hat
were of sombre black, and her manner nervous and disturbed. She
came slowly to-wards their end of the table, although she was
obviously in search of some one else.
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