. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. "Adieu, my worthy uncle. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. ” “To a friend?” “To lodgings—alone. ” A bureaucratic three hours later, the paperwork was finished. He had said so. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. His anger gave way to grim humour and he thrust towards them, leaning heavily on his cane. “By Jove!” he exclaimed. ‘I have no idea. “I think as I feel in a good humour it must be the latter.
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