"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt. She had to make sure, for the peace of her mind, that this was really the man. Remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. No tricks would serve. "Stay!" interposed Jonathan. “Beasts!” But Miss Miniver took no notice of his admission.
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