His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. "I took the course I pursued to serve you. “I hope that it has not done any harm. Could she hold him and manage the reins? If only Gerald had not gone. They moved fast. He continued thoughtfully.
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