Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. "Whatever you say—you, behind those stars there, if you are a God. I thought Bess would have cried her pretty eyes out when she heard you was nabbed. She tiptoed into the entryway where some decorator had placed a live orchid upon a glassy ebony table.
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