What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. So I come suppliant. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. "I'm not going to get rid of you just yet. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. She could think of nothing more to say. Something he saw there had a curious effect upon him. "Egad!" exclaimed Wood, "you've hit the right nail on the head, anyhow.
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