“Large eyes, a small head, and the devil of a temper,” said Bradwyn; “and sympathies—there never was a young woman with so many sympathies! There is an old proverb,” he added, with a sneer, “‘They are not all friends of the bridegroom who seem to be following the bride.’”
Ullweather was still absorbed in his own meditation.
“Marshire,” said he, “is the man for us. We might do something with Marshire.”
“Nevertheless,” said Penborough, “I have my eye on Orange.”
“I say,” exclaimed Bradwyn, “be careful. Here is Reckage again. How the dickens did he pass us?”
The men glanced up at a solitary figure which now appeared descending the broad staircase. In silence, and with a studied expression of contempt, without a look either to the right or to the left, the unpopular leader passed through the hall and out into the street.
“A lonely beggar, after all,” said Bradwyn.