If I might take the liberty, Sir John,” he added, with a humorous gleam in his eyes, “I should like to congratulate you upon your tie. She forgot Anna’s sacrifices, forgot her own callousness, forgot the burden which she had fastened upon her sister’s shoulders. ] CHAPTER XI The second call energized her into action. “I confess it. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. He had scarcely completed his toilet, when he was startled by a noise at the door, and heard his own name pronounced in no friendly accents. You were very good. More strange stories were told of it than of any other house in London. "Where did you find it!" asked Wood. "Perhaps he means well. ‘I am not in the least in a rage. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. A shudder rippled across his shoulders.
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