“Think how dumb we find ourselves and stifled! I know we seem to have a sort of freedom. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight. ‘Tell me what you know of Miss Charvill?’ he ordered severely. . I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods were getting a little out of hand.
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