“What a hypocrite you are. Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. “So you found Rhea, I see. These were his mistresses, Poll Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. I told him the truth. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. ” Annabel clutched her sister’s hands.
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