“It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. Where's Jonathan?" Inquiries were instantly made after that individual, but he was nowhere to be found. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. This was the reason he had raised his little independent Company of Light Infantry and joined the West Kent Militia. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. ‘May I, indeed? I’ll take you up on that.
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