"I disown you. She heard this standard expression of a strong soul wrung with a critical coldness that astonished herself. She’ll have to wait for dinner,” he said, uncomfortably. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. Well, I've had to be. Left alone, Jonathan lighted a lamp, and, opening the trap-door, descended the secret stairs. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished. The envelope might contain only a request as to what he wanted done with the manuscripts.
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