She drew her naked arms around herself. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. To tell you the truth, he spoke to me very seriously upon the subject. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Presently he turned to Courtlaw. With this view, Jack was carried—for he was no longer able to move without assistance— to a ward called the Castle, situated over the gateway on the western side, in what was considered the strongest part of the jail. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages.
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