“To be frank with you, Lady Lescelles, when your brother asked me the other day to be his wife I was under a false impression as regards his relations—with some other person. "Bolt the wicket!" shouted Ireton, who, with the others, had been not a little entertained by the gallant turnkey's discomfiture. I speak no harm of her. She is no more English than that set of beggars over there. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. In this hour its colossal selfishness never occurred to him. Every moment. “If you speak—farewell.
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