It was you, of course, whom he wanted. Byrom,—a poet of whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,—Hogarth,—in the levée in the "Rake's Progress," and in "Southwark Fair. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. She saw me, and, Lady Ferringhall, I shall never forget her look as long as I live. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. ” “You have not answered my question,” he reminded her. He was angry. No, never mind about thanking me. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. Had he come to see her to find if she needed something? No. ‘It must be painful.
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