and Mrs. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. ’ ‘I am whatever you like,’ he agreed pleasantly, ‘but nothing is going to stop me from searching for this dagger. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied.
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