We'll lather him with mud, shave him with a rusty razor, and drench him with aqua pompaginis. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. She deserves what has befallen her. I have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. Maybe later. "I've a good mind not to speak to you again, Sir!" cried Winifred, with difficulty repressing a tear of vexation; "you've acted unfairly.
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