Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. He gripped the window-sill behind him.
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