The fair boy in the audience who had waved was yet another suitor. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha. “Not a bit of it,” he said; “it’s only a score in a game. Meat pies with sweet crust were stuffed with macaroni, steaks of pork and beef were pounded thin and grilled rare, capons had been marinated in plum wine and cinnamon, and veal sausages stewed in cream were served over fine noodles: all the dishes that he loved were present. " "It is past," rejoined Lady Trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again.
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