“Come sit with me, beautiful. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. “What night will you dine and go to the theatre with me?—and how about Hurlingham on Saturday?” Anna shook her head. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. I'll be feeling fine in no time. “You were talking to that fellow Ramage to-day—in the Avenue. ‘Stand where you are, or I shoot!’ Like lightning, thoughts zipped through her mind.
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