In vain Wood protested his innocence. "Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. “They are coming past our table. "In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1. Before she passed out she turned and faced Sir John. . Kneebone," returned Shotbolt. I have—run away. She fled. Almost worthy of your own fertile imagination. She would never forget the agony of that first meal in the great dining room. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob.
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