CHAPTER XVII
FIFTEEN YEARS IN HELL
"Really," Lady Caroom exclaimed, "Enton is the cosiest large house I was ever in. Do throw that Bradshaw away, Arranmore. The one o'clock train will do quite nicely."
Lord Arranmore obeyed her literally. He jerked the volume lightly into a far corner of the room and came over to her side. She was curled up in a huge easy-chair, and her face caught by the glow of the dancing firelight almost startled him by its youth. There was not a single sign of middle age in the smooth cheeks, not a single grey hair, no sign of weariness in the soft full eyes raised to his.
She caught his glance and smiled.
"The firelight is so becoming!" she murmured.
"Don't go!" he said.
"My dear Arranmore. The Redcliffes would never forgive me, and we must go some time."
"I don't see the necessity," he answered, slowly. "You like Enton.
Make it your home."
She raised her eyebrows.