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It was a scene full of colour; the lamps in the window shone golden through the haze of smoke on to the black beams of the ceiling, the dust-red brick of the walls and floor, and the cavernous depths of the great fireplace.
"The marriage of his son Stafford with your daughter," she said, slowly, calmly. Mr. Falconer started and stared at her, his heavy face growing a dust-red, his eyes distended with amazement and anger. "Are you out of your mind?" he said at last, and frowning at her in a kind of perplexity. "'Pon my soul, Maude, I'm never quite certain whether you are in jest or earnest!
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