His lordship was “at home.”
“You take the reins, Fan,” said Swinton, stepping out of the phaeton. “Keep a tight hold on them, and don’t let the ponies move from the spot they’re in—not so much as an inch!”
Without comprehending the object of this exact order, Fan promised to obey it.
The remembrance of mare than one scene, in which she had succumbed to her husband’s violence, secured compliance with his request.
Having made it, the ex-guardsman ascended the steps, presented his card, and was shown into the drawing-room.
Chapter Forty Two.
The Power of a Pretty Face.
It was the front room of a suite into which Mr Swinton had been conducted—a large apartment furnished in splendid style.