” 189 “Are you feeling okay?” She could feel a parade of ants dotting her skin. Her cheeks seemed to burn, her veins ran riot, and her heart was beating so fast that she was sure he must feel it through his scarlet coat. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. The girl nodded sagely. One post-midnight meeting, she could stand it no longer. One went in for painting, kept straight and married old Ferringhall a week or so ago—the Lord help her. But I dare not accept it.
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