Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. ‘Truth is, it’s Gerald who’s put me in the devil’s own temper, ma’am. You have taken my dagger. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. A murmur ran through the assemblage, by several of whom Jack was recognised. A brief feeling of empathy with Pottiswick passed through him.
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