Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. “A very clear statement, madam,” he said. ‘Your master in?’ he demanded of the astonished footman, removing his cockaded hat and handing it over. "Not my king's," returned Wood. ” “I suppose not. " "Peace, fool!" cried Marvel, angrily. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write.
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