"I thought you'd have got rid of your ill-humour by this time. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. ” He panted. "No Blueskin, I perceive, Sir," he observed, in a deferential tone, as Wild entered the Lodge. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. Let her see what she could make here.
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