CHAPTER XII. Irreton. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. It was that somebody had cheated you. That boy—blind as a bat! Why, he hadn't seen the Woman until to-night! From the first chord of the Grieg concerto to the finale of the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat tensely on the edge of her chair. "Thames, this is no forgery. Anna, who was disposed to be sharply critical, could find no fault with it. “By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain. Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. She was consumed by misery and hate. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. She had been quite convinced that an engagement with him and at last a marriage had exactly that quality of compromise which distinguishes the ways of the wise.
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