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His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. The inn was a military haunt. Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. But she was not to be tempted.
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