“I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Spit of your mother. “Very funny. ” He said. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. The faithful fellow will never leave me. I was reduced to 170 a fool, for there were many pretty women from all walks of life in that teeming city. F. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious.
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