“Eh? Oh, no, my dear boy, no. Girls do come over grumpy sometimes. Here, try this claret, and let’s have a cozy chat for an hour before we go up.”

“An hour?” said Barron, with a raising of the eyebrows.

“Yes; why not? You’re not a love-sick boy, and you’ll have plenty of your wife by and by.”

“Not a boy, certainly, sir. As to the love-sickness—well, I don’t know. But—yes, that’s a good glass of claret. Larose, eh?”

“Yes. Fill your glass again.”

“Willingly,” said Baron, obeying his host, and pushing back the jug, “for I want to talk to you, sir, very seriously, and one seems to get on over a glass of wine.”

“To talk to me?” said Sir Mark sharply, for his nerves were still ajar. “Nothing t. . . Read More