Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. ‘Forgive this intrusion, ma’am, I beg. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. She did not answer him, as she did not know what to say. She was unusually soft and gentle in her manner to him. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. "That's well. "I was only commenting.
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