He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. He has no imagination, no real generosity. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. " Quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak. "I understand," she said. “I wonder!” said Miss Stanley. The intoxicating sense of novelty had given place to a more business-like mood.
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