” “But why is one face beautiful and another not?” objected Ann Veronica; “on your theory any two faces side by side in the sunlight ought to be equally beautiful. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly.
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