She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. Prison was bleak without spaciousness, and pervaded by a faint, oppressive smell; and she had to wait two hours in the sullenly defiant company of two unclean women thieves before a cell could be assigned to her. “I was frightened then,” she declared. It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. “Turned out to be an impostor, too. I am far too much the gentleman. ” She replied, smiling awkwardly.
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