Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. “Please come home. ” “Please don’t let him know I’m here yet. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. ‘That piece of information seemed to interest him very much. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. Be seated, and calm yourself. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window.
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