. . The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. ” They left the restaurant just as the rain slowed to a dull trickle, the fury of the storm exhausted, having left mirror puddles in its wake. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. A kind but hard looking female officer named Rose took her into a room and sat her down at a small wooden table. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. ’ For a moment or two there was dead silence in the parlour. ” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed.
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