Drummond patted him on the shoulder. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. He continued alternately to be tossed in the air, or rolled in the kennel until he was borne out of sight. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. ‘He told me everything, if you mean Gerald. And me, I know very much of soldiers. Mr. My business is with Lady Trafford.
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