"You are six foot four, and you look as though you could hew your way through life with a cudgel.

One could fancy you a Don Quixote amongst the shams, knocking them over like ninepins, and moving aside neither to the right nor to the left.

But what is a poor weak girl to do?
She wants some one, Mr.
Andrew, to wield the cudgel for her." It was several seconds before he turned his head.

Then he found that, although her lips were laughing, her eyes were longing and serious.

She sprang suddenly to her feet and leaned towards him.
"This is the most delightful nonsense," she whispered.