She slipped past the servants, her soft roe-skin shoes unheard on the old stone. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. ” Michelle fired back merrily. Wood. It is not you who runs the risk of going dinnerless to-morrow.
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