" "No—no," laughed Jack. Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. The miserable woman staggered, uttered a deep groan, and fell senseless on the straw. "I've lost my wager. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. And empty. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power.
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