At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. The likeness was ridiculous. As he passed out he saw in the hall a quietly dressed man with keen grey eyes, talking to one of the footmen. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. "Can't I settle this business, Captain," muttered Blueskin, drawing a pistol. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. She calls him a pig, and she says he ain’t Valade.
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