“That’s the value of a book like ours, eh, me boy?” cried the Squire. “It’ll be kept on newspaper-stands on the top of great iron landing-stages for people to pick up as they start for Australia or Siberia! It’ll tickle their fancy, eh? What? By Jove it will⁠ ⁠… to learn what lecherous snakes their ancestors were.”

“I didn’t tell you, did I, Solent,” said Darnley innocently, “that when I called at the Malakites’ to let Olwen know I’d take her home this evening, the little minx refused to budge? She swears she won’t leave Christie for a single night! There’d have been tears if I’d insisted. Well! It’ll be⁠ ⁠… perhaps⁠ ⁠… easier”⁠—he spoke pensively and slowly now⁠—“if she does remain⁠ ⁠… where she is.”

“Girls are all the same,” remarked Jason. “They all like sugar and spice. Old Malakite probably buys more tasty sweets for her in this town than she gets with us.” There was something about this speech that was more than Wolf could bear. He rose abruptly to his feet.