Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. She knew that the next time he caught her she would not be able to free herself. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. ‘You’ve cause to be grateful to Gerald, then. There is the key. By your father, Sir Montacute Trenchard's will, you are aware,—and, therefore, I need not repeat it, except for the special purpose I have in view,—you are aware, I say, that, by this will, in case your sister Aliva, died without issue, or, on the death of such issue, the property reverts to Constance and her issue. ‘You will like to marry me, yes?’ she pursued. Old farmhouses loomed as they whizzed by, left behind in the gray like mourners.
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