No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. And nothing to tell her where to begin. She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror.
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