Until this instant, he discovered, he had thought of Melusine’s plan only in a nebulous fashion, a naïve girl’s dream. It is better that you go away now, I think. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. It was the gallows. It was not the arrival of the guests, but merely the maid moving about in the hall. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave.
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