‘Ah, no,’ Gerald uttered at once, lowering his voice and infusing it with all the promise he could command. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think. For you say that you swim. ” She laughed gaily. A shudder rippled across his shoulders. She drank it obediently. Arrived at Paddington, he struck across Marylebone Fields,—for as yet the New Road was undreamed of,—and never moderated his speed until he reached the city.
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