‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. I am a thing to be used. Nothing ensued. Especially when they wear cologne. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. Wood, delighted at the idea. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. I mystify you; I can see that.
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