Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. ‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. Why not? Were not his own sentiments inclined in favour of the patient? But fifty gold was fifty gold.
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