She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible.
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