“I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. Lucy did not suspect the date would be an issue, considering Cathy's rather liberal attitude towards dating in general.
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