Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. “I remember it very well indeed. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. ’ ‘That’s just it,’ said Joan Ibstock shamefacedly. You may command my services at any time. To her consternation, the sound drew her great-aunt’s attention and she threw out a hand.
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