Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. I do not admit the truth of a word which you have said. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible.
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