She could not bear the shame of it. She was ashamed of herself for the simple gladness she felt wash over her as the infant’s screams ended. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago. He wants you so, he is still a virgin. Do help me, Lady Ferringhall. And she—’ ‘She!’ interrupted the young lady crossly. Easily I could have killed you. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. Clear water gave away to gray as she waded deeper, feeling her slippers on rock.
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