Scarcely any one noticed the full measure of her consternation. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. “The rest,” she said, holding tightly to his hands, “is the most important of all. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor.
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