I am the cause of his ill-usage. . He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected to feel. you walking home?\" 3 She paused, stunned. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “By-the-bye, Lady Ferringhall,” he said, “do you know that I am a very great admirer of your sister’s? I wonder if she has ever spoken to you of me. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage.
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