“By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. I chose you for your strength, your cunning, your intelligence, your great beauty. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. He would be so disappointed. And all to find that picture of Mary Remenham.
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