She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. I may tell him, at any rate, that you will see him?” “I shall like to see him,” Anna answered. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. One doesn’t want to lose a grain. But there was a face pressed to the glass. Jonathan had not deceived him. My engagement at the ‘Garrick’ terminates Saturday week, and then I am free. “It’s—private. . 82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. A slow anger burned in the man.
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