They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. Martin came to the stage from his section, his own violin in hand. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. “Tiffany’s?” He looked at her comically. ” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living.
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