He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. “Sooner or later, John, it will come to that. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. But for him she might have been alive and happy. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. She was the type that people of every age gravitated to, naturally affable and kind to everyone. Herein was the sum of human knowledge in essence.
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