They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. “Ruin me? For what? Posterity? How could you ruin me, Lucy? What on earth are you talking about?” He got up and began to pace the room. Then he opened them again suddenly, to find Courtlaw still by his side. He was amused. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. ” “For you. I tried it myself, Sir. She felt much better. Every man in her life had betrayed her one way or another.
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