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At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “The unaccountable thing is that I wouldn’t go home to please her. I must say what I have to say!” “But not now—not here. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. Into this hole in the wall and out of it the native stream flowed from sunrise to sunset, when the stream mysteriously ceased. "And the next time Captain Darrell wants a witness, I promise you he shan't look for one in vain. That knot also would be cut. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. But there must be an Englishman who would like to marry her to get Remenham House.
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