Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. “It makes me feel,” he said, “that nothing is impossible—to have you here beside me. Wood. But I have two hundred thousand pounds. I've told you about him; and you wrote a shrewd yarn on the subject. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions.
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