Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. " "What!" she exclaimed, staring eagerly in his face. " "Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?" "Company, child," repeated Kneebone. There was a bare chance that he had been mistaken. With me behaving as if everything was infinitely matter-of-fact, what could he do? And just then Heaven sent old Manningtree—I didn’t tell you before of the fortunate intervention of Manningtree, did I? He was looking quite infernally distinguished, with a wide crimson ribbon across him—what IS a wide crimson ribbon? Some sort of knight, I suppose. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. He has given orders that no one is to disturb him. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it. My wife doesn’t understand, doesn’t understand now.
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