Gold-handled, too. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. . Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. It is customary even where an agreement is drawn. He addressed her by that title, and something in the tone disturbed her.
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