Authors: Rafael Sabatini
"Poor, indeed!" quoth Trenchard, and adapted a remembered line of his play-acting days to suit the case. "The tears live in an onion that shall water his grave. Though, perhaps, I am forgetting
Swiney. "Then, in a brisker tone, "Come, Richard. What like is the muscadine you keep at Lupton House?"
"I have abjured all wine," said Richard.
"A plague you have!" quoth Trenchard, understanding less and less. "Have you turned Mussulman, perchance?"
"No," answered Richard sternly; "Christian."
Trenchard hesitated, rubbing his nose thoughtfully. "Hum," said he at length. "Peace be with you, then. I'll leave you here to bay the moon to your heart's content. Perhaps Jasper will know
where to find me a brain-wash." And with a final suspicious, wondering look at the whilom bibber, he passed into the house, much exercised on the score of the sanity of this family into which his
friend Anthony had married.
Outside, the twilight shadows were deepening.
"Shall we home, sweet?" whispered Mr. Wilding.
The shadows befriended her, a veil for her sudden confusion. She breathed something that seemed no more than a sigh, though more it seemed to Anthony Wilding.