He looked at her, hurt. “And all the rest of it perhaps is a song. "Well, Sir Rowland," he said, after a brief pause, during which the knight regarded him with a searching glance, as if endeavouring to recall his features, "I will not gainsay your words. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Before he even glanced at the man on the floor he stepped over to her side and took the poker from her. I could make away with him at once, as you are about to make away with your nephew, Sir Rowland,—but that wouldn't serve my turn. This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. He seemed to be labouring under some great excitement.
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