” “And such a beast of a one,” Sydney remarked vigorously. ” He hesitated, and went off at a tangent. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. “He is not—I don’t like him. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence.
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