I wonder whether you would mind, Lady Ferringhall,” he went on, with a sudden glance at her, “if I tell you that you yourself remind me a great deal more of what she was like then, except of course that your complexion and colouring are altogether different. " The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. I did not reckon upon—him. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. ToC Just as St.
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