And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Annabel was in hiding all the time. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. A. Things you would laugh at. By the side of her plate was a small key. good at that. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal. My engagement at the ‘Garrick’ terminates Saturday week, and then I am free.
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