"I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. "But it won't do. ’ Jack blinked. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. “Manning,” she said, and contemplated a figure of inaggressive persistence. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. Gianfrancesco was not ugly, in fact, perhaps he was rather handsome after all. There were perches inside where she could crouch and labyrinths underneath where she could hide. He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. Strange, I could never learn her history. Anna sprang lightly away across the street.
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