207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. ‘Good God!’ uttered Roding. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose. He was well mounted, as was his companion; and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay.
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