Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. I said I hadn’t been at the Royal Society soiree for four years, and got him to tell me about some of the fresh Mendelian work. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. He made a quick movement towards her, but she did not flinch. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Brendon’s guests,” she said, “and I scarcely think it would be nice of me to leave him alone with Sydney. —'We'll do it,' said they, filling their glasses, and looking as fierce as King George's grenadier guards; 'here's your health, Mint. Leave me behind: I'm not afraid.
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