The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. " "You cannot help yourself, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, contemptuously. ’ ‘Unless it is Captain Roding,’ put in Lucilla Froxfield from the curved back sofa on the other side of the fireplace. .
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