Byrom,—a poet of whom his native town, Manchester, may be justly proud; and his features and figure have been preserved by the most illustrious of his companions on the present occasion,—Hogarth,—in the levée in the "Rake's Progress," and in "Southwark Fair. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. “It has all been a mistake, hasn’t it?” “No more talking,” the doctor interposed. They had both been unsuccessful. Only think how compromising. He would have to make sure of her silence. Do not mistake me. Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes.
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