On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself. ‘What now?’ ‘Now,’ she answered flatly, ‘you will please to tell me at once why you have come here. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration. No—you shall come with me to Waterloo. “I would not have you go for anything,” she answered. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. ” She glared at him balefully.
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