Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. Then came the great day. She turned to Lucilla, a plea in her face. She could read that Martin had a crush on her and was perhaps even going to try and challenge John as he was the bold sort.
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