And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. ” The truth prevailed. It came with an extreme effect of re-discovery, a remarkable novelty. " "Of course," rejoined Kneebone, a little maliciously, "but that's easily accounted for. " Her attitude now entirely sisterly, he ceased to be afraid of her; there was never anything in her eyes (so far as he could see) but friendly interest in all he said or did. Nice position. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time.
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