‘Lord,’ Gerald uttered, his inexplicable annoyance evaporating. John looked at his feet bashfully. 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. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. Vorsack would staunchly disapprove of his attire, said nothing anyway. Scarcely any one noticed the full measure of her consternation.
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