Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Ascending the stairs, and conducting them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it. ‘Don’t be silly. At a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge. He was not in love with her en désespoir which, he said, was necessary if a man would marry without getting a dowry from his wife. —'They have,' says he. He smiled tenderly.
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