"You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. “Let me get you some water, Annabel. A good deal of the food will be in tins. Melusine ran to catch at his arm. Presently repellance grew under the frozen mask of astonishment and dissipated it. “How is that carmine working?” he asked, with a forced interest. And shall their wretched offspring live to blight my hopes, and blast my fame? Never!" And, with these words, he grasped Wood by the throat, and, despite his resistance, dragged him to the very verge of the platform. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded.
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