The Rivet in Grandfather's Neck A Comedy of Limitations

He had not seen Patricia Stapylton for twenty-four hours, and he was just beginning to c

issuing from the little vine-covered summer-house, a lo

ll agree to no such nonsense, I t

l yourself an English gentleman? Well, all I have to say is God pity England if her gentlemen are of your stamp! There isn't a costermonger in all Whitechapel who would dare talk to me as you've done! I would like to snatch you bal

rhaps, I have cut up a bit rough, Patricia, but, then, you've been talkin' l

she panted; "ah,

nfernal little vixen? Yo

, sharply. Rudolph Musgrave

about his face. He had wheat-colored hair and weakish-looking, pale blue eyes. One of his

t, anyhow? What do you mean by sneakin' in here and tappin' on a fe

urious tremor, when he spoke; but to the

distinctness, "and it is not my custom to permit gentlewomen to

ere, you're her cousin, ain't you? By God, I'll leave it to you, you know! She's treate

pushed him through the garden, shaking him occasionally with a quiet emphasis. The colonel was angry, and it was

n field, where a number of cows, fresh from the evening milking, regarded them with incurious eyes. It was very

d you any personal violence as long as you were, in a manner, a guest of mine. This field

man who had annoyed

hness of execution-a certain plodding and painstaking carefulness, in a word, such as is possible only to those

er will take you to the hotel, where, I imagine, you are staying. There is a train leaving Lichfield at six-fifteen, and if I were you, I would be

t back into