“I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. " "And partly what else?" "I shall never tell anybody that. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. I shouldn't care to express an opinion.
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