"In Heaven's name! what's all this?" cried Wood. She hated living like that. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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