Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ’ ‘Who, Joan, who? Of whom do you speak?’ ‘Mrs Sindlesham. In Darrell's open features, frankness and honour were written in legible characters; while, in Jack's physiognomy, cunning and knavery were as strongly imprinted. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. She wished that the drive would never end, but it was only three miles after all. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess.
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