Chapter XXII
AN OLD FOOL
Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black
table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of
conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of
spectators close behind her. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. ‘But you do not understand, mon ami. "
"Hum!" exclaimed Jonathan. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying
you, when he grows old enough. “Hullo!”
Courtlaw, haggard, his deep-set eyes more brilliant than ever, took Anna’s hand
into his, and breathed a little close drawn sigh of content. Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped
down. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which
wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. “I am much obliged to you,” he said. “Yes, I remember,” she said.
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