D. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. O'Higgins know the truth; he wouldn't be reckless with the funds, then. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. The looming face was 71 over her own once again, and arms as strong as iron bars held her down. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. But did you ever hear of a djinn in a blue-serge coat? Stitched in!" Something like this was always rushing into his throat; and he had to sink his nails into his palms to stop his mouth. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever. I want him immediately, so you can send Frith with my phaeton if you like. Ennison too, always handsome and debonnair, seemed transported out of his calm self.
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