Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. You jumped, and I think that you left me. “Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. I have been stupid and foolish. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. The next moment he was by her side. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter One In the quiet of an autumn afternoon, the deserted mansion slept.
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