“Are we interrupting anything?” “No!” Martin jumped slightly. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. Only I feel that you all want to make life too easy for me, and I am determined to fight my own battles a little longer. Abruptly would come the end. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered.
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