“I am the most foolish of men. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. Brendon’s had an awful stroke of luck. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. “And by what right do you do anything of the sort?” “No right at all,” he admitted. You climb by disappointing men. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre.
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