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“Well,” she admitted. “You are absurd,” she declared. See? You marry me. Let me keep you from that man’s clutches. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. ‘You would like? And do you imagine that I will tell you?’ ‘Won’t you?’ ‘No, a thousand times. . ’ She tried to shake his hands off her wrists, but Gerald held them fast and tutted at her. CHAPTER XII.
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