’ ‘And I love the way you call me imbecile,’ finished Gerald. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. I want you to be my lover. All I can say is, it's well meant; and I may add, I'd have made it five minutes ago, if you'd given me the opportunity. You make a game with me, imbecile. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall.
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