Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. I wonder,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “whether you ever realize how young you are. For a few days he was able to relegate his conscience to the background. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you —when we first met. Now let us forget it. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. ToC "How do you mean to act, Sir?" inquired Trenchard, as soon as they were left alone. She was quite a beauty, all in white, and I can still see how much you resemble her.
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