Earles closed the piano with a little bang. “I don’t take any prisoners, John! You do not want this life!” “Yes I do! I am an adult. . How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. It did seem in so many ways exactly what Ramage said it was—the sensible thing to do. . ‘I want a word with you, my lad. ’ ‘Distract me? She nigh on gave me an apoplexy. Wu may have news for us.
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