’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. —Sorry to quit your lord—worships, I mean,—I don't know what I mean," she added, a little confused, and dropping a profound curtsey to the disguised noblemen, each of whom replied by a bow, worthy, in her opinion, of a prince of the blood at the least,—"but I've a few necessary orders to give below. ’ ‘Yes, that is Mr Brewis Charvill, as you have found out for me. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. She opened it and drew out a letter, and folded within it were the notes she had sent off to Ramage that day. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape.
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