Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. I have a good memory, you perceive, Sir Rowland. The manager stared at the empty doorway for a space, shrugged, and returned to his ledgers. On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern. He was the junior of both his sisters, co-educated and much broken in to feminine society. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. On reflection, it occurred to him that he might, perhaps, be able to loosen the iron fillet; a notion no sooner conceived than executed.
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