"He is," replied a portly personage, arrayed in a gorgeous yellow brocade dressing-gown, lined with cherry-coloured satin, and having a crimson velvet cap, surmounted by a gold tassel, on his head. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. " "You had better write them for me, Mr. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. " "And why not?" asked Kneebone, eagerly. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. ‘Come, mademoiselle, it is of no use to conceal anything from me, you know.
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