’ *** Everett, General Lord Charvill, master of a barony stretching over a wide estate that encroached on the hundreds of Witham, Thurstable and Dengy, stood before his own fireplace, glaring at his visitors from under bushy white brows from a head held necessarily low above a back painfully bent by rheumatism. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor. Twelve years, then, have elapsed since the date of the occurrences detailed in the preceding division of this history. But the clearly definite thing was the ultimate escape. If only—Anna, tell me,” she broke off suddenly, “how did you get to know Mr. She and I were very close.
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