"
She turned towards the doorway opening on to the terrace, but having
taken two or three hasty steps, as if desirous of bringing the interview
to a speedy end, she stopped and faced him:
"Lord Rosmore, this highwayman, this Galloping Hermit; he is not dead,
you know that?"
"Judge Marriott will not allow us to forget it," he laughed. "Give him
the slightest opportunity, and he will tell of his adventure on Burford
Heath half a dozen times in the day."
"Who is this Galloping Hermit?" Barbara asked, almost as though she
expected a definite answer to the question.
"Could I satisfy that curiosity I should be quite a famous person," he
said. "Scores of men envy him his reputation and half the women of
fashion are in love with him."
"Is he this Gilbert Crosby, think you?"
"Why should you suggest such a thing?" Rosmore asked sharply. "Were they
grey eyes which peeped through the brown mask that night?"
"I could not see; and, besides, I do not belong to that half of the
women of fashion."
"Truly, if you did you would be in no bad company. I have a sneaking
fondness for the fellow myself, and it has been my ill-fortune never to
meet him.
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