” Drummond, a few years older, dark, clean-shaven, with bright eyes and humorous mouth, laid down his paper and turned towards Sir John. Think how free that leaves me to follow things up! I must take you everywhere. I’m making a mess of my life— unless you come in and take it. Neither of them believed me. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel.
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