My father was Colonel Pellissier. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. " "Hold your tongue, hussy!" cried her husband gruffly. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations.
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