His name is John. That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. ” “It might become one,” he answered. However, I daresay that we shall come across one another before long. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. Nothing, in short, was too extravagant to be related of it; and Jonathan, who delighted in investing himself and his residence with mystery, encouraged, and perhaps originated, these marvellous tales. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial connections.
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