"That was the lad's name," returned the stranger. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites. I am the richest man in England. I'll call it my wedding gift. "O, lud!" she cried; "French noblemen in disguise! and so rude as I was! I shall never recover it!" "A good supper will set all to rights," insinuated Kneebone. ’ She seemed to recollect herself suddenly.
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