She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. "To-night it is their turn," said Jonathan, binding up his wounded fingers with a handkerchief. The second is to somehow meet Lady Ferringhall. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. She could not bear the shame of it. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. She hesitated. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine.
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