"Well, have it your own way," said Etwald, carelessly. "I am a scoundrel in your eyes, I dare say; but if you will permit me to see you to-morrow at eleven o'clock I shall be able to prove that this particular devil--meaning myself, major--is not quite so black as you have painted him.",
"Nor will you--after midday to-morrow. But you will regret if you do not grant me this interview.",
"Dead!" shrieked Mrs. Dallas, all her superstition roused by the word. "Come away from that man, Isabella.".
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