Like all Miss Braddon's novels, it is full of incident and dramatic effects, but with fewer of those moral blemishes which have made more than one of her works not exactly the sort of mental diet best suited for growing girls--or, for that matter, anybody else.
there with weak legs and a heavy banner, that I've been watching all the evening. He's more fun than all the rest of it put together."
Mr. Mostyn, being of course much too polite to point out the man in question, indicated him with a twitch of his light eyebrows; and Edward Arundel, following that indication, singled out the banner-holder from a group of soldiers in medieval dress, who had been standing wearily enough upon one side of the stage during a long, strictly private and confidential dialogue between the princely hero of the tragedy and one of his accommodating satellites. The lad uttered a cry of surprise as he looked at the weak-legged banner-holder.
Mr. Mostyn turned upon his cousin with some vexation.
"I can't help it, Martin," exclaimed young Arundel; "I can't be mistaken--yes--poor fellow, to think that he should come to this!--you haven't forgotten him, Martin, surely?"
"Forgotten what--forgotten whom? My dear Edward, what do you mean?"