“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. Stanley, standing up with a sudden geniality and rubbing his hands together. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. ‘All this gadding about. "Don't ask me about it now. ‘Inside, miss!’ ‘But what is it?’ ‘Quick! We need the major. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back.
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