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‘Come, cry a truce. “Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. “Perhaps your engagements are made for you. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. It said: Got news for you about J. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. When the carpenter concluded his recital, Jonathan was for a moment lost in reflection.
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