’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. ” “Don’t worry yourself. "It looks as though, we should go together," he said, pulling her toward him. Jerking forward, she jabbed backwards. ‘We?’ Gerald smiled. If you ride out there, and the place is well worth a visit, for the magnificent view it commands of some of the finest country in the neighbourhood of London,—you are certain to meet with him.
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