"Come! I see the storm has blown over," cried Winifred, brightening up. Uttering a terrible imprecation, Jonathan snatched up the link, and hastily descended the stairs, leaving the Jew behind him. Already the warm sun was drawing from the pines their delicious odour. ‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. . And all this time perhaps you have been waiting, expecting to hear from me. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. "You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile.
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