For answer, Myra’s cheek came trustfully to rest against the sleeve of the rough tweed coat. “Jim,” she said; “Oh, Jim!”
Presently: “So you know the Inglebys?” remarked Jim Airth.
“Yes,” said Myra.
“Is ‘The Lodge’ near Shenstone Park?”
“The Lodge is in the park. It is not at any of the gates.—I am not a gate-keeper, Jim!—It is a pretty little house, standing by itself, just inside the north entrance.”
“Do you rent it from them?”
Myra hesitated, but only for the fraction of a second. “No; it is my own. Lord Ingleby gave it to me.”
“Lord Ingleby?” Jim Airth’s voice sounded like knitted brows. “Why not Lady Ingleby?”