"Neither is mine," said Drabble, who had recovered his good humour. "I don't approve of Madame Death-in-Life's methods. It is not my plan to terrorize the world by bombs and murders. The pen, sir, the pen is mightier than the explosive; so is the tongue. Pamphlets and lectures--that is my system for bringing about the much-needed social millennium. The woman you speak of does harm to the cause; she should be suppressed."
"Just what I said--and by the guillotine."
"No, sir!" thundered Drabble. "No legal crime, if you please."
"Anarchists prefer illegal murder," said Semberry, smiling grimly.
"And no punishment to follow," remarked Carson, arranging his sling.
"Except that of their own conscience," chimed in Olive.
"No Anarchist possesses one," said Tui; at which all present burst out laughing at the expression on Dr. Drabble's face.
In the midst of this merriment Miss Slarge returned with the letter and an apology.
"It took me some time to find," she explained to Carson. "Listen; this is how my sister describes you. Perhaps it is better not to give it to you in my sister's own words, for her style is founded upon Dr. Johnson's, and is apt to be prolix."
"Paraphrase the description Miss Slarge," said Mallow.
"Mr. Carson," said Miss Slarge, glancing at the letter, "is twenty-five years of age, gentle, well-bred, not without parts, and modest."
The gentleman in question clicked his heels together in quite a foreign fashion, and bowed low. Mallow noticed the continental air of the whole action, and remembered it.
"He is tall, slender, elegant in shape, of a swart complexion, inherited from his mother, and his eyes and moustache are of the deepest black. He looks like an Italian."
"By George, Carson! Mrs. Purcell describes you exactly," said the Major; and in his heart Mallow, who had followed the description closely, was obliged to confess that this was true.
"He is delicate in health, and has a weak heart."
"I know that to my cost," sighed Carson, "and a swollen hand. Does Mrs. Purcell mention that fact, yes?"
"She does, Mr. Carson, and she also says that you are effeminate."
"Ha, ha!" bellowed Drabble--"effeminate, eh?"
"That is true enough," assented the young man; "but I can't get it off, and it has been on my wrist all my life--in fact, ever since it was placed there by my ayah."