“Please let me drive you home. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people. Ennison had disappeared. She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. “I had a dream in the night,” she said. "I've done with you. ’ ‘But—’ ‘You’ll get her all over blood again. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest.
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