She laughed till the tears stood in her eyes. Just as Jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep behind him, and aware that the slightest indiscretion would betray him, he halted, uncertain what to do. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage.
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