V. “Can you spare me a moment?” he asked. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. “Dear John,” she whispered. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. That added to his puzzle.
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