He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. ‘That is what she wants, is it?’ ‘Do you blame her?’ he said stiffly. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live. “Never mind, old chap,” he declared.
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