“I have never yet met a man whose intellect I could respect. He looked half at her and half at the sky. Grudgingly he admired her. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. And as these things should always be treated as matters of business, I'll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement.
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