CHAPTER VII. ” He writhed. He was disquieted. ’ Mrs Chalkney lifted her brows. It would be too mortifying. “I would marry your sister anyhow, under any circumstances,” he answered. That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. “You’re a biologist, aren’t you?” He began to talk of his own impressions of biology as a commonplace magazine reader who had to get what he could from the monthly reviews, and was glad to meet with any information from nearer the fountainhead. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. ” “But Hainault—assured—me—that the marriage was binding.
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