I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Why can’t you let it be?’ Gerald grinned at him. Leaning upon a gate he looked down into the valley. “Showtime!” Martin cried. The Times slipped from his fingers. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. I know all about it. And now, Sir, have I kept faith with you?" "You have," replied Darrell. “My word holds,” she said.
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