” “I think,” Lady Lescelles said, putting down her teacup, “that I must send Nigel to plead his own cause. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. She had not noticed such beauty in many years, and it almost caused her to weep. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. He would pursue that little pastime on some other occasion. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real.
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