Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. " He opened his eyes, to behold hers large with wonder. But "fine" is the word. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. Winifred pointed to the door. “No, Lucy, it isn’t fine and I am sorry. Not far from the entrance, on the left, was a sort of screen, or partition-wall, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, formed of thick oaken planks riveted together by iron bolts, and studded with broad-headed nails. "You must take it to Sir Rowland Trenchard's in Southampton Fields. ” Michelle opened the door. Why are you doing all this?’ To his surprise, Melusine relaxed back, emitting a laugh that sounded perfectly genuine.
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