"My limbs feel so light, now that my irons are removed," he observed with a smile, "that I am half inclined to dance. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. He could scarcely blame her. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. Besides, she had admitted her identity. ‘Melusine, don’t sit there. .
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