Anna stepped back at once with a little gasp of relief. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. Had she expected to wed Valade herself? Had the fellow broken a vow of betrothal, or abandoned her? He must find out more. She held out her hand frankly. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive.
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