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’ Gerald drew his breath in sharply as Lord Charvill took a step towards his granddaughter, thrusting out his head. Remain at the door, Nab," he added, loitering for a moment behind the others, "and let no one in, or out. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Then the work is optional; they go on their own. Behind the illustrious personages just described marched a troop of stalwart fellows, with white badges in their hats, quarterstaves, oaken cudgels, and links in their hands. It was an uproarious affair, for Rollo now knew that he had been grieviously betrayed: they were trying to kill him in a new way.
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