He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. It was you, of course, whom he wanted. Daughters were in the air that day. "We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them.
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