“You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. “Who can tell?” she said. And if she is not a nun, nor a refugee, and yet is entirely English, I’m hanged if I know what she is. “She has refused to listen to you?” “She has behaved in a most extraordinary manner,” he answered. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:— "Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne, And laughs to think Monroe would take her down, Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand, Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. He returned her impressive greeting almost mechanically. When he awoke it was late in the day, and he was surprised to find Blueskin seated by his bedside, watching over him with a drawn sword on his knee, a pistol in each hand, and a blood-stained cloth bound across his brow. Earles said persuasively. "Been to those places?" "No. Her name is Lucia, she works in the Alberti Yarn Shop, across from Florestano the Butcher!” I happily rewarded her with a shiny new Florin and sent her off. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. The truth was impossible, indecent. ‘It is seldom enough I am visited by anyone at all, let alone a personable young redcoat.
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