"Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. “He dissembles,” he said. His grip twisted her wrist. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. Melusine seized her chance. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. Wood rest till he brought the villains to justice.
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