" But Thames had no intention of following his friend's advice. ‘Never would he have gone to England. “Your mother was a Gypsy. “No,” said Ann Veronica, “but I want to know. Her eyes quizzed the major. I can't help looking at you frequently. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. ” “No,” cried Miss Miniver, almost vehemently. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. "I sha'n't offer any of these to you two," he said; "but I know you won't mind me having an imitation king's peg. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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