She was, she guessed, close to the library. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. Her lover surely did not 223 understand the implications of what he had asked for and his lust blinded him to the realities of existence even now. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. " "My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper. The unequal battle went on.
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