It was bad luck to go to Canongate. He could lose himself for hours at a time. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. It was just then that she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. But finding all continue silent, he cautiously lifted the latch, and crept into the room, resolved to punish the offender in case his suspicions should prove correct. He spent the remainder of the afternoon looking for a friend whom he found at last in the billiard room of one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged. But Bess could scarcely summon resolution enough to hazard the experiment; and it was only on Jack's urgent intreaties, and even threats, that she could be prevailed on to trust herself to the frail tenure of the rope he had prepared. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. There's something queer about that young man; but we'll never be able to find out what it is. And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. The sea was no longer rolling brass; it was bluer than anything he had ever seen. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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