"Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. "She has no secrets from me. He's on the ragged edge. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. There's one person in the house whom I wouldn't frighten for the world. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror.
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