Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. A moment afterwards, the door was closed and bolted, and the carpenter found himself alone. Would you stand by me—and her?” “My dear Nigel!” she exclaimed. “Do not look so uncomfortable, both of you,” she begged. A friend of mine, Ogilvy’—I suppose that’s Ogilvy & Ogilvy, who do so many divorces, Vee?—‘was speaking very highly of it—very highly!’” He smiled into her eyes. There were two sisters, you know.
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