" "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. She washed her face with unwonted elaboration before she went to bed. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. ’ He gestured towards the fulminating general. Chapter XVI THE DISCOMFITURE OF SIR JOHN Sir John looked from one to the other of the two sisters. ‘You mean that his missus is pretending to be my mistress? Lord-a-mercy!’ ‘Precisely. I get the worst headaches. Ennison!” He released her. The next few hours will tell. You might be able to use the picture some day.
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