"I've come on a disagreeable business." Sir Harry's face fell.

He hated disagreeable business.

He flipped a piece of biscuit at his spaniel's nose and sat back, crossing his legs.
"Won't it keep ?" "To me it's important." "Oh, fire away then: only help yourself to the claret first." "A girl--Lizzie Pezzack, living over at Langona--has had a child born--" "Stop a moment.

Do I know her ?--Ah, to be sure--daughter of old Pezzack, the light-keeper--a brown-coloured girl with her hair over her eyes.

Well, I'm not surprised.