’ Before she could object, Melusine found herself hustled back into the house and dragged willy-nilly towards the library door, where Jack called softly. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. He glanced up at the coachman. He recognized the face instantly. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. He rather liked the "sir"; it signified both gratefulness and the chastened spirit. On examination it proved to be a flat bar of iron, nearly a yard in length, and more than an inch square. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites.
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