"You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. The man was mad to marry me. How she learned of her heritage I do not know, but you need not imagine that it is greed that drives her. At this moment, his quick ears detected the sound of footsteps on the stairs. The only inconvenience I feel from my shattered noddle is an incapacity to drink.
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