“Allow me. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. “I never dreamt!” she said. She carried herself well, whereas her brother slouched, and there was a certain aristocratic dignity about her that she had acquired through her long engagement to a curate of family, a scion of the Wiltshire Edmondshaws. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. . ’ ‘Where then is your uniform?’ ‘I don’t wear it to balls.
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