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—if a trifle vigorous, the love of hero and heroine was of the clutch-as-clutch-can, two-way type of the good old days; and when he got down on his knees to bury his head in her lap, after being accused (wrongly, of course) of putting the old squire on the spot in the rhododendrons, anybody could see from the way her eyes swam—and even floated on their backs—that if he were to shoot up the whole company (including the manager) she would still love him in that good old fashioned way.

Also, the villain never failed to rouse such loathing in the sentimental hearts of the “gods” that beer bottles (empty, of course) were frequently hurled from the heights.