"'Ask her will she see me fer a minute,' sez he; an' wid that I come fer yez."
"What's he like, Ellen?"
"Well, he's bigger than most and kind av gruff spoken, as though he'd as lave hit ye if he didn't loike yer answers; but it's nice eyes and good clothes he has. He's a foine figger av a man, and he do be remindin' me some way av Miss Ryder. I doubt he's a relation."
Belinda was straightening her hair and putting cologne on her swollen eyelids.
"I'll have to go down. Where is he?"
"In the back parlour, Miss."
"Did you raise the shades?"
"Divil a bit. It's ez cheerful ez a buryin' vault in there."
It was. John Ryder had grasped that fact as he sat waiting, upon one of the shrouded chairs. He turned up his coat collar with a shiver.
"Lord, how natural it seems," he muttered. "They did the same sort of thing at home. Give me the ranch."