give way, I tell you, or he exposes himself to the base imputation of marrying Miss Fairlie entirely from mercenary motives.”
Mr. Fairlie shook the silver smelling-bottle at me playfully.
“You dear old Gilmore, how you do hate rank and family, don’t you? How you detest Glyde because he happens to be a baronet. What a Radical you are—oh, dear me, what a Radical you are!”
A Radical!!! I could put up with a good deal of provocation, but, after holding the soundest Conservative principles all
the marble cross at the head of the grave. Her face turned towards me slowly, with the blank look of terror set rigidly on it once more. I went on at all hazards— it was too late now to draw back.
“The two men spoke to the policeman,” I said, “and asked him if he had seen you. He had not seen you;