” “I thought I was old enough,” she gasped, between laughter and crying. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together.
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