“My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr. Now, it was a wilderness of weeds. ’ Lucilla eyed him with one of those particularly feminine looks it was difficult for a mere male to interpret. “He’s got almost to like it. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded.
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