‘Well, nothing,’ uttered her betrothed crossly, before Gerald could answer. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Listen, Jack. ” She felt his heart warming the small room like a radiator. The thought passed through his mind even as he started to cross the terrace at a jogtrot, moving to head her off. His pride, however, would not suffer him to interfere with their proceedings; much less could he bring himself to acknowledge that he had been in the wrong, and entreat Lady Trafford to remain, though he was well aware that her life might be endangered if she travelled by night. He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning.
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