‘Up, Jacques, up,’ she ordered. ‘You’re only making things worse, you little idiot. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. There was a strained, eager expression on his face. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. “What do you mean?” Lucy asked. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands.
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