It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. " "No more!" cried Griffin, incredulously; "I should have thought you must have made double that sum at least. At least that, I think, is what makes a clever woman’s independent career so much more difficult than a clever man’s. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. Sir John once more looked around him. “Bother!” and decided that this was not so, and would not look to right or left again. Then came the javelin-men, walking four abreast, and lastly, a long line of constables, marching in the same order. “I will not be drawn into a conversation with Mr. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. Sister’s got married to that bounder Ferringhall. He poured a pinch of tobacco into his palm and sniffed.
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