He seemed happy with her, finding her proper and seemly. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. “I’ll be hanged if I do. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. Perhaps she was. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. But you must leave us now, dear Winny, Jack and I have something to settle between ourselves. Maggot.
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