Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. Swiftly he looked back to Melusine and found she had whisked to the window, dragging a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve and hastily blowing her nose. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. “Quite an unimportant one,” he assured her. Collins, you can go now. I tell you what, Mr. Believe me, Anna.
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