“I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. “She”, you say. “Twenty-two. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. " "As many as you please, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, resuming his seat. Under the circumstances you must permit me to be the best judge of the identity of the young lady who did me the honour, as an old family friend, of dining with me. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone.
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