“Yes. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. I can keep you. Nab and Quilt to the door! Jack, you are my prisoner. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. Suddenly a half stifled exclamation broke from Anna’s lips. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. " "It is, indeed," replied Mrs. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. "Another moment, and it'll be too late.
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