” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair. Then Valade—was the man as big a fool as Nicholas?—tried again. 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. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. Knew something was up.
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