Narcissus's words awoke a wild hope.
"But why couldn't we ?" she repeated, her voice scarcely louder than a whisper.
"Well, that's an idea!" he chuckled.

"Confound the fellow, he imposed on all of us! If we had only guessed what he intended, we might have signed a petition telling him how necessary he had made himself, and imploring him, for our sakes, to behave like a gentleman." "But supposing--supposing he was innocent--that he had never meant--" She put out a hand to lay it on her brother's.

"Hush!" she could have cried; but it was too late.
"Endymion!" Narcissus called across the room, jocosely.
"Eh! What is it ?" Endymion came out of his doze.
"We're in a mess with these drawings, a complete mess; and we want Master Raoul fetched out of Dartmoor to set us right.

Come now--as Commissary, what'll you take to work it for us?
Fifty pounds has already been offered." Dorothea turned from the table with a sigh for her lost chance.
"He'd like it," answered Endymion, grimly.

"But, my dear fellow,"-- he slewed himself in his chair for a look around the hall,--"pray moderate your tones.