On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. Above the housetops it was different. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison. She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. "Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. Heaven alone knows why. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation. It is to set me right with Winifred.
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