” He put his hands on her shoulders and lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. He wants you—or he doesn’t; and then he helps some other woman against you. 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. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon. “I remember it very well indeed. I'll engage to get the job done by six. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door.
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