It was better even than the hymn-singing. Ain’t enough as I’ve got militiamen quartered on me this se’ennight, lazing about all day, eating me out of house and home and drinking my liquor into the bargain. 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. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. Do get your hat, and we will go to that corner café. Your reputation for hospitality would remain under a cloud though, for tea was distinctly mentioned. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. CHAPTER IV. "And the Marchioness is your daughter," added Thames. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan.
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