He even squeezed under the fence and hopped humbly about old Peter Caithness, who suddenly assumed monumental proportions among those who had so long tolerated him.
But Quarrier coldly drove him away and the increasing crowds besieging poor, bewildered old Peter Caithness trod upon the major, and there was nothing for him to do but to scuttle back to his own brush-heap and huddle there, squeaking pitifully.
As for Grace Ferrall, she lost no time in tears, but took Agatha publicly to her bosom, turned furiously on Quarrier in private, and for the first time in her life permitted herself the luxury of telling him exactly what she thought of him.
"You had your chance," she said; "but you are all surface! There's nothing to you but soft beard and manicuring, and the reticence of stupidity! The one girl for you--and you couldn't hold on to her! The one chance of your life--and it's escaped you, leaving a tuft of pompadour hair and a pair of woman's eyes protruding from the golden dust-heap your father buried you in.

Now you'd better sit there and let it cover your mouth, and try to breathe through your nose.

Agatha is looking for a new sensation; she's tried everything, now she's going to try you, that's all.

She will be an invaluable leader, Howard, and we shall not yawn, I assure you.

But, oh! the chance you've lost, for lack of a drop of red blood, and a barber to give you the beard of a man!" Which merely deepened the fear and hatred which Quarrier had entertained for his pretty cousin from the depths of his silk-wadded cradle.