The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. Well, it's scarcely credible. “What ought you to do?” He began to produce his knowledge of the world for her benefit, jerkily and allusively, and with a strong, rank flavor of “savoir faire. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. ‘Something in that, missie. “It is against my husband’s orders, and I am not sure that my sister will be particularly glad to see me. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly.
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