Sir John and Annabel seated themselves at one of them, and the proprietor himself, a small dark-visaged man, radiant with smiles, came hurrying up, followed by a waiter. “I am afraid,” she said, “that he must have a skeleton key to these rooms. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. And so Misther Wudd lives near the Black Lion, eh?" "He does," replied Thames.
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