The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. ‘But for my dowry, what else? One cannot expect that an Englishman will marry any jeune demoiselle without a dowry. Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern.
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