“No, no,” she cried. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ” “But why——” Sir John stopped short. My agent is here, and he has brought his contract for me to sign. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed.
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