There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. Were the parents agreeable? Were they of age? Had the license been procured? But here, in a far country, only the velvet manacles of wedlock were necessary. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. White, who had risen to greet her, proceeded with a formal, and from Anna’s point of view, a wholly unnecessary round of introductions.
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