“You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. CHAPTER III. But then Lady Palsworthy had never seen Ann Veronica running like the wind at hockey. She never calls herself ‘Alcide. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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