Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. It’s on the horse. ’ ‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. She got up, as she had been told to do, at his appearance, and he amazed her by sitting down, according to custom, on her stool. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. 'Mrs. ‘Espèce de bête,’ she snarled. She drank her glass of wine, however, and clanked glasses good-naturedly with Mr.
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