The tourist season would soon be at ebb, and it would be late in September before the tide returned. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. ” “Delusion!” he muttered, glaring at her. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall.
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