They passed briskly down Pulteney Street, and through Laura Place, without the exchange of many words. Thorpe talked to his horse, and she meditated, by turns, on broken promises and broken arches, phaetons and false hangings, Tilneys and trapdoors. As they entered Argyle Buildings, however, she was roused by this address from her companion, “Who is that girl who looked at you so hard as she went by?”

“Who? Where?”