" "May I trust you?" hesitated Thames. However, I'll make a last effort to save the poor little creature, if it costs me my life. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. . Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers.
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