" "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. I thought you might like to see. . " "I understand," replied Thames; "be it as you will. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best.
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