’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. Ennison kicked it away with his foot. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. She said that in the note. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure. You couldn’t help it. However, to cut a long matter short, my proposal's this: —I've taken a fancy to your bantling, and, as I've no son of my own, if it meets with your concurrence and that of Mrs. “Mid-thirties. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine.
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