She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. In the middle there was a gate. He refused to believe that Anna was not ‘Alcide. ” “Well?” “Sir John came to me—that you know—and you can guess what I told him. ‘And you, my girl, if you’d been born at all, would have been just what you think you are. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better.
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