What do you say to Brighton——” Anna looked at him quietly—and he never finished his sentence. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. The pursuit of pleasure, selfgratification, is an original instinct with her.
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