“I drink your very good health, Sir John and Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “and I wish you a pleasant journey back to England. " "What right have you to suppose this, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, sternly. . And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. We must always move on.
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