Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. She got pregnant. It was as much accident as anything, but she had killed him. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. ” “Don’t be shy, Lucy. ‘She hasn’t said so, but I presume Valade had got hold of all the useful papers,’ Gerald went on. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms.
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