She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. . "I am your most unhappy son. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. . . ’ ‘And you will not,’ came triumphantly from the cherry lips. ‘I never met a rat what wandered about the place with a lantern, I didn’t,’ grumbled the old lodgekeeper aggrievedly. "Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. And even she was forced to admit to herself that this last resource of hers was a slender reed on which to lean. .
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