Anne Hereford: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

I did not answer, except by a shake of the head, and he sat for a long while in silence, breaking it at last abruptly.

"Does Mrs. Penn get looking from the front windows, after that—that sight—that you professed to see the night before last?"

"I think she would like to do so: but there's no opportunity. The rooms in the east wing do not look to the front, you know."

"Ah, I see you and she get talking of this together."

"The talking has been very little, and of her seeking, not mine. I would rather she never spoke to me at all of it: it embarrasses me."

"Why does it embarrass you?"

"I—I——"

"Well?" he said, looking straight at me.

"I don't like to say, Mr. Chandos."

He left his chair and came to the window, where I stood playing with the jessamine. How soft the air was! how sweet the perfume of the flowers in the approaching night!