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He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. “I am so very, very sorry. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. “I remember when you walked me home. I was happy to oblige them, I had grown sick of the heat of the south and all the miserable sun. ” She replied dryly.
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