Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. She heard him come in; the light burned on. I’ve bored you or something. “If only Sir John were not Sir John I would ask you to come and have some supper. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig.
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