Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. I did not know that you had even 244 started writing a symphony. Do sit down, dear boy. Did you grow up at the Valade estates? You were born a Valade, I take it, even though your father is English. The soldiers! They must not find her here. “Just look that through, will you.
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