“How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture. His expression altered. A wedding procession turned the corner. ” “I wasn’t jesting,” said Capes, abruptly. She was furiously angry. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. It was a haunted place. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. ” Capes watched the limpid water dripping from his oar.
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