"No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. Ramage controlled his expression and thought very quickly. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,—for Winifred's door was locked,—Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was raised in the carpenter's chamber. “When are you going away?” He asked. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames.
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