Chapter XXI HER SISTER’S SECRET “I think,” Lady Ferringhall said, “that you are talking very foolishly. Jolly nice girl, too. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. "I am your most unhappy son. " "Will there be any danger?" "To Mr. All the world before you, all the ologies.
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