‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. People were passing in the street below. She was to see Capes to-morrow, but now, in this state of misery she had achieved, she felt assured he would turn his back upon her, take no notice of her at all. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood.
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