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Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. ‘Gerald Alderley, I don’t know what you deserve. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. ” He sat like a man turned to stone. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. ‘And I don’t mind telling you it goes agin’ the grain with me to let you go free and all, missie. But she was disappointed.

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