You are somebody’s secretary, are you not?” It was plain that the subject was distasteful to her, but Ennison, although famous in a small way for his social tact, did not at once discard it. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. The jolly part of it was that for the first time in her life so far as London was concerned, she was not going anywhere in particular; for the first time in her life it seemed to her she was taking London in. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. You haven’t an idea what the sort of employment you could get there would be like, the sort of people you would be mixed up with. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said. Telling the porter that he would attend to the house himself, he bade him go in search of Jack Sheppard. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic.
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