The area was not completely circular, since, where it faced the great gate, a segment had been cut out of it for the Commandant's quarters and outbuildings and the entrance yard, across which, our travellers now followed their guide.
The Commandant hurried out from his office to welcome them--a bustling little officer with sandy hair and the kindliest possible face; a trifle self-important, obviously proud of his prison, and, after a fashion, of his prisoners too; anxiously, elaborately polite in his manner, especially towards Dorothea.
"Major Westcote!"-- he gave Endymion his full title--"My dear sir, this is indeed--And Miss Westcote ?" he bowed as he was introduced, "Delighted--honoured! But what a journey! You must be famished, positively; you will be wanting luncheon at once--yes, really you must allow me.

No?
A glass of sherry, then, and a biscuit at least.

.

." He ran to the door, called to his orderly to bring some glasses, and came back rubbing his hands.

"It's an ill wind, as they say.