Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. . ’ ‘Uh-oh,’ came from her infuriating suitor and his eyes dropped to the weapon she was dragging from the holster under her petticoat. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burning documents. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection.
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