Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. And if you mean to use that dagger to slip the lock, you’ll make enough noise to bring ten spies down on us. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically.
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