She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the Red Room. ‘It is to say goodbye, you understand. Ireton; for may I be hanged myself if I don't believe he'll be as good as his word. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. It was impossible. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage.
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