"I'll tell you," answered Jonathan, sternly. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. I thought you understood. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. ’ ‘I don’t want to think it,’ he said, and she thrilled to the savagery in his tone. But you—you have a good face. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington.
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