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” She said fretfully. “I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend. 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. “How so?” “I should have shared these things with you earlier, my sweet heart. ” She smiled grimly at the recollection of that lunch—tea and roll at a cheap café. On the north stood the battlements of one of the towers of the gate. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake. ” “Annabel! Annabel!” Annabel stamped her foot. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good.
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