At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Bah! She does not know me very well, and you—not at all. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. She won’t be a problem from now on. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. No: I must face it out. ’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently.
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