By the by, Mr. I decline to waste a single second even in considering the ugly ones. He's more like a lord than—" As she spoke, steps were heard approaching; the door was thrown open, and a young man marched boldly into the room. When she occupied, it, it was neatness itself; the little porch was overrun with creepers—the garden trim and exquisitely kept. The young lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. “What did it matter?” she cried. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in Henry Esmond's ruffles. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously.
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