And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. He looked at her guiltily. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. She could read that Martin had a crush on her and was perhaps even going to try and challenge John as he was the bold sort. “I wonder,” she said, “how much you care. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon.
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