She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. The danger you put yourself in by remaining here astounds me. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. It was the grand nursery of vice. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. “No, I am alone,” she answered. ” “You will make me horribly conceited,” he answered. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. But at the word “home” she turned again.
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