” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. She made me over. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. She must not tell Martha about Gerald. The tears flowed faster. Amidst it all, however, there were several light-hearted and laughing groups walking from cell to cell to whom all this misery appeared matter of amusement. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. It will not cost you more than six hundred to reach your destination. ’ Obediently, Gerald rose and walked to the other end of the parlour. 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.
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