Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major. One would think I had agreed to her going. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. “A new admirer, Annabel? But what has that to do with your going to England?” “Everything! He is Sir John Ferringhall—very stupid, very respectable, very egotistical. Gerald had been confident that the boy would not dream of disobeying an order thrown at him by a major of militia, but he guessed Jack might be wondering if he was about to be haled off to prison. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning.
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