"You are hit Phil, 'a very palpable hit'! Who would have thought it! Clara Winsleigh needn't poison her husband after all in-order to marry you, for nothing but a sun-empress will suit you now." "Don't be a fool, George," said Errington, half vexedly, as the hot color mounted to his face in spite of himself.

"It is all idle curiosity, nothing else.

After what Svensen told us, I'm quite as anxious to see this gruff old _bonde_ as his daughter." Lorimer held up a reproachful finger.

"Now, Phil, don't stoop to duplicity--not with me, at any rate.

Why disguise your feelings?
Why, as the tragedians say, endeavor to crush the noblest and best emotions that ever warm the _boo-zum_ of man?
Chivalrous sentiment and admiration for beauty,--chivalrous desire to pursue it and catch it and call it your own,--I understand it all, my dear boy! But my prophetic soul tells me you will have to strangle the excellent Olaf Gueldmar--heavens! what a name!--before you will be allowed to make love to his fair _chee-ild_.
Then don't forget the madman with the torch,--he may turn up in the most unexpected fashion and give you no end of trouble.