To-morrow. To-morrow.

"Who are the Durhams, Auntie?"

"He's Sir Charles Durham. Something important in the Punjaub. Some high
government official. He'll be useful to Jerrold if he gets a job out
there. They're going back in October. I suppose I shall have to ask.
Maisie Durham before they sail."

Maisie Durham. Maisie Durham. But to-morrow he would have got away.

"'What will you leave your lover, Rendal, my son?
What will you leave your lover, my pretty one?
A rope to hang her, mother,
A rope to hang her, mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart and I fain would lie down.'"

"Sing something cheerful, Colin, for Goodness sake," said his mother.
But Colin sang it again.

"'A rope to hang her'"

"Bless him, you'd think he'd known all the wicked women that ever were.
My little Col-Col."

"You like him the best, don't you?"

"No. Indeed I do not. I like my laughing boy best. You wouldn't catch
Jerry singing a dismal song like that."