CHAPTER XIV. “P. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. ‘And you mean this? Truly?’ ‘Entirely. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. She turned to face him and he kissed her. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Having ascertained by the breathing which room Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in.
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