Spurling and Marvel rose too. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. I must provide for my safety.
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