She had better escape if she can. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. She sat down awkwardly and helplessly on one of the little stools by her table and covered her face with her hands. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. He proposed, he wanted to possess her! He loved her. Sometimes these dreams are simple and tender; sometimes they are magnificent.
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