’ She stopped, for Jack was feebly laughing. "Now, step this way, Mr. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. I'll tote it myself. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. He had no ideas about daughters. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. “I don’t know how, but I always manage to find a 164 fiddle if there is one around.
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