Arrived at the audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of the person he represented,—"Sir Rowland Trenchard. ” He thought. " "Oh, dear!" simpered Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to hide her confusion by looking steadfastly at her plate. Somehow her walk home with him had been transmogrified into a melodramatic rejection, a slamming. "My God! will you see your child strangled before your eyes, and not so much as scream for help?" said Wood, staring at the widow with a look of surprise and horror. This man was apparently not sure whether he was Meysey Hill or not. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. Think, ma’am.
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