“Let me help you,” he begged. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. Or had you not noticed?’ He sneered. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. I don’t know. "Take off these chains, Rowland," said Lady Trafford, "instantly, I command you.
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