A silence ensued. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. “You are in a private room of St. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. All the same, I wish I had that fellow by the throat! Just the virile, unregenerate man in me wishes that. ‘Else she would not have married that ne’er-do-well only because Jarvis proposed him to her. Wood, when he does return, I'd send him about his business. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys.
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