The way it had happened was stupid, absurd. His revelry, however, was put an end at the expiration of the time mentioned by Jonathan, by the entrance of a posse of constables with Quilt Arnold and Abraham Mendez at their head. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. She isn't used to cities. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. "Because—because I'm always distrustful of a priest," rejoined Jonathan. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. "You're in danger.
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