Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!" "A countryman of yours, Terry?" "Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?" "Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. She felt that Ann Veronica had duped her in that dream, and now that she had come up to London she might as well speak her mind. Arrived in Paris she remembered that she had not the money for a fiacre. “How have you been, my dear? Up to no good, I see.
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