Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. She drew her naked arms around herself. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. In lieu of it, he still adhered to the sleek black crop, which, throughout life, formed a distinguishing feature in his appearance. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair.
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