Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. Montague Hill. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid.
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