Why else?’ Gerald stared at her blankly. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. But whatever she may have said was lost as Gerald pinned her to the wall, the point of the sword at her throat. I’ll be waiting for you outside. Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and instantly darted through it.
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