" "I know you'll contradict it, Sir," said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,—"I know you will. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. " And he pointed significantly to the hand. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology.
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