“I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. I am no use for a clerk, because I do not understand shorthand. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. There! You are trying to take your hand away. Did you really doubt if I knew?” “No. The wastrel, the ne'er-do-well, who went mostly nobly to a fine end. “I’m covered. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. Particularly when it was obvious the fellow was one of these pitiful wretches weak enough to allow themselves to be ousted from their inheritances and thus obliged to come seeking succour of their neighbours. Blueskin therefore had nothing to stop him.
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