‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. "Better than your company, Saint Giles," replied Sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. —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. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness.
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