"Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. This is your choice. ” Tears flowed down her face. “I wrote it for you. I’ll pay it. This morning his entourage (as he jestingly called it) consisted of the girl, two spinsters (Prudence and Angelina Jedson), prim and doubtful of the world, and the young man who appeared to be considerably the worse for the alcohol he had consumed. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. It ought never to have begun.
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