" "No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt. I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. This is my friend, Mr. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. . ’ ‘His daughter, ma’am?’ Gerald asked.
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