“You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Now I’ll tell you what I propose. “I—I didn’t love the man I was engaged to,” she said. Jonathan looked in that direction, and beheld the fugitives riding off in triumph. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. It was so hopeless to put it to them.
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