He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface. It was her foster brother Mike, on his way to the bathroom. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. She had gladly lowered her eyes as she had been instructed to in front of the fine ladies and lords, as she was more interested in their clothing and fripperies than their faces. Her mother had prepared her for everything.
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