CHAPTER XXXVIII

HOW MY LADY MADE A PRAYER Sir Thomas Mowbray tossed his cigar into the fireplace and looked down at my lady, her frail yet passionate beauty, with glowing eyes. "Eleanor," said he, his usually loud voice unwontedly gentle, "Nell, will you marry me when--when you're free?" My lady laughed. "Thank you for nothing, kind sir!" "Marry me, Nell!" he pleaded, reaching out eager hands. "Be my wife! You know it was always you--only you, really!" "Pray don't paw me!" sighed she wearily. "And I will never marry you because…