” He replied. ” “You alarm me,” she murmured, smiling. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. “Not a bit of it.
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