“I have come for an explanation,” she said. ‘You said it. You will be—my wife. One gets a lot more fun married. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. We shall never have an heir, you and I! My family is crumbling; all of my brothers are dead. Ruth could tell the doctor; she could bare many of her innermost thoughts to that kindly man; but there was an inexplicable reserve before this young man whom she still endued with the melancholy charm of Sydney Carton.
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