The visitors, when they entered, looked thoroughly intimidated and Everett concealed a grim smile. Like carpenter, like chips. Gerald was conscious of that sliver of irritation again at mention of the name. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. Very romantic and all that. ‘You did not find Gosse, that is seen, but—’ ‘Gosse? Gosse? Who’s this here Gosse then?’ ‘He is the Frenchman of whom I told you. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms.
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