He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing. Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. See? You marry me. How did you get into this house?’ He shrugged.
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