Now, will you do me the honour of lunching with me, Miss Pellissier?” Anna hesitated. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed.
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