"You must not remain here," he said. Let me lend you some money. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. Idiote. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. Diable. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. “We parted— that night the best of friends.
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