"So it was," he said heartily, conceding the point. "Escorted by, or escorting, I was never clear which, a fat German baron nearly five feet high, who begged me to horsewhip her into marrying him."
"You shot him?" said I, so very energetically that Margaret's pout turned into a smile.
"Dear me, no," he said, pretending to yawn. "I left him to Madge, poor fellow! I hope you've given her every satisfaction, Master Wheatman."
"That he hasn't," said Margaret briskly. "He's spent far too much time putting me in what he considers my proper place."
"My friend," said he to me gravely, "you're in for a dog's life."
"You're right about the life, dad, but wrong about the dog. Good-bye till supper, you nasty ripper-up of your daughter's character!"
So saying, she kissed him on each cheek, smiled at me, and left us.
"I'd like to sluice the jail feeling off myself," said I to the Colonel.
"Right," he replied, looking at his watch. "You've just half an hour. I find England irksomely restful and law-abiding after the Continent, but I'm glad of it for once. I should be damnably vexed if I'd hanged you, and Madge wouldn't have liked it either."
He had a grave voice, like a judge's, and a quick, pert eye, like a jackdaw's. Outwardly he was as unlike Margaret as the haft of a pike is unlike a lily, but I already saw her spirit in him.