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Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. They must have a key. Open it. It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church. . Just as the clergyman approached the altar, she perceived a boy steal quickly into the church, and ensconce himself behind the woollen-draper, who, in order to carry on his amatory pursuits with greater convenience, and at the same time display his figure (of which he was not a little vain) to the utmost advantage, preferred a standing to a sitting posture. You could not have aided and assisted us more effectively by trying to drown yourself in the sea. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. ’ ‘He doesn’t sound like a desirable parti. ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. ” The change in Lady Ferringhall’s manner was subtle but unmistakable.
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