"Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. Shall I bring off anything?" he added, looking eagerly round. She could tell that they too would find their legs jutting awkwardly from the petite furniture. It was a unique experience for her to wash him. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. "Good bye!" cried Mrs. “How do you feel?” she asked. But this is like—like walking round a house that looks square and complete and finding an unexpected long wing running out behind. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall.
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