207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. ” “That’s why, in a way, I’m prudish. ” “That sounds very interesting,” she answered coolly. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. Mr. Hitchings, who seem to be absolutely engrossed in one another, and a boy of about seventeen, who no sooner got here than he discovered that he wanted to see a man in the promenade and disappeared. " "Never fear," replied the lady.
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