I want to be in it too." She shot a glance at him.

He was looking at the portrait of that old Ironside Allway who had fought and died to make a nobler England, as he had dreamed.

A grim, unprepossessing gentleman, unless the artist had done him much injustice, with high, narrow forehead, and puzzled, staring eyes.
She took the cigarette from her lips and her voice trembled a little.
"I want you to be something more to me than that, sir," she said.

"I want to feel that I'm an Allway, fighting for the things we've always had at heart.

I'll try and be worthy of the name." Her hand stole out to him across the table, but she kept her face away from him.