“TROUSERS!” she whispered. She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. It did not matter in the least what name the young fellow was travelling under; all James Boyle O'Higgins wanted was the letter H. Putting his own construction upon this mute interchange of opinions, Jonathan ventured to observe, that it certainly was a very perplexing case, but that he thought something might be made of it, and, if left to him, he would undertake to manage the matter to the Master's entire satisfaction. And nothing to tell her where to begin. “All right so far,” she said to herself. Now," he added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, "help me on with them. Good night. ‘For once, you’re talking like a sensible man. “About my sister,” she repeated slowly. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English.
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