Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame. She had dreaded the beginning of this hour.
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