” He stood before her, his hat in his hand, his head bent, his voice lowered to a convenient pitch. The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. ‘Long enough for you to see Frith for me. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. 1. Lucy felt her eyes misting up, turning traitor. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths.
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