“For Heaven’s sake, Dunster, don’t let her out of the carriage, or hansom, or whatever she came in. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. Of course I know nothing of what really did happen in Paris—if even you ever saw him there. But what I want to get at is this.
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