“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. ’ ‘Woof!’ The sergeant appeared nonplussed, and Melusine pressed her advantage. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. ” It did begin to fall into place together. “My dear,” the letter ran, “I have to tell you that your sister Gwen has offended your father very much. You will be—my wife. Anna was having tea by herself when she entered. ” “But what did father imagine?” “Of course he imagined! Any one would! ‘What has happened, Peter?’ I asked.
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