’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me. He suspected a trap. The teacher droned on and on about the mournful funerary love of Romeo and Juliet, a tale she had long since tired of. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. For a moment or two Gerald stood in the total silence of amazement, his pistol up and pointing, aware that Hilary was likewise stunned, standing with halfdrawn sword.
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