She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!" "A countryman of yours, Terry?" "Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?" "Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. We dine at seven-thirty. It was common name, so I was thrown off the scent. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman.
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