The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. “How are you, Lucy?” Martin ran to catch her in the crowded hall. I'll remember that. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—" "What—what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly. Each was draped in transparent silk, dancing, beckoning to me, teasing me. He would be so disappointed. ‘You do not think it is enough English.
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