She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. ’ No Latin? And no guns or daggers, naturally. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. That any human being could conceive and execute such a thing! A Roundhead, here in these prosaic times!—and mad as a hatter! Trying the rôle of St.
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