Her father was holding her waist, smiling. . ’ Her eyes narrowed. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. He just walked in a few minutes ago. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. She discovered him sitting upon the floor beside his open trunk. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. The couple reappeared from behind the curtains, both visibly shaken. In the mean time, let me advise you as a friend not to irritate him by a refusal, which would be as useless as vexatious.
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