“Do you mean in looks?” she asked. Manning’s handwriting, and opened his letter and read some lines before its import appeared. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. “Well, you certainly did very well at tea,” she remarked. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. She addressed Anna with a beaming smile and a very creditable mixture of condescension and officiousness.
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