‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. . 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. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. " "Give you the best I have in either case," replied Figg.
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