Even his fortunes would have been disregarded, had he not felt that to do that would have been the surest way to condemn himself before her.
They had cut out the evening trips now, for fear of recognition.

She was working faithfully.

Already she had cleaned up something like fifty thousand dollars on the turn over of the stuff he had stolen.

Another week and it would be some thousands more.
Yet the strain was beginning to show.
"Oh, Graeme," she cried, one night after she had a particularly hard time in shaking Drummond's shadows in order to make her unconventional visit to him, "Graeme, I'm so tired of it all--tired." He was about to pour out what was in his own heart when she resumed, "It's the lonesomeness of it.

We are having success.