" "There you are, just as I said. A woman has a perfect right to choose her own husband, but Nigel seemed to think that there was something a little mysterious about your treatment of him. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. For thirty years I have lived alone; but once upon a time I lived among men. He’s a footman who works for the nuns and has taken up the cudgels on her behalf. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. "The men. ‘Do not move, messieurs, or I shall be compelled to blow off your head.
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