The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. “Look at me. I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. Ann Veronica felt no repulsion at the prospect. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. But I’m going to-day. He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street.
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