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He had not to wait long. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. Presently the odour of burnt powder mingled agreeably with that of the incense. He sat before a desk littered all over with papers and official looking documents. Guns were impossible. When anybody is natural, these days, we dub them queer. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Wood now re-appeared with a very red face; and, followed by Winifred, took her seat at the table. God only knows what I have done, or left undone.
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