What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. " "Here!" ejaculated Wood, with a look of alarm. For that matter, my future be damned. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. The thousand voices which a few moments before had been so clamorous were now hushed. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport.
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