"You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. ‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. Toys! Delicate trifles! A sex of invalids. ” “You shall not need either,” Brendon said grimly. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “May I enquire,” he asked smoothly, “in what way my appearance contributes to your amusement? If there is a joke I should like to share it.
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