A stack of chimneys, on the house above them, had yielded to the storm, and descended in a shower of bricks and stones. Presently her aunt sighed deeply and looked at the clock. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. " He paused, and not without malice. He reeled, and crashed to the floor. She tried to keep her side up by declaring that he had put her into an impossible position, and he replied by shouting, “Nonsense! Nonsense! Any father in my place would have done what I did. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement.
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