Rot, no doubt; but we can’t alter it. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Surely she could ignore him. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. ” “God send you may never repent it!” cried Capes.
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