” She looked at him for a moment with fire in her eyes. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. ‘You’re either mad, or in love. I've a question to ask him. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. ’ It seems that I was mistaken.
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