Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence. ‘It does not matter to me if he comes or no, madame. " "Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly. ‘Did I say so? When last heard from you were claiming some good English name. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. ” “No you’re not.
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