A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. " "Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. And don’t tell me what you’ve been up to, dashing off to Remenham House with that Kimble lad, and Lord knows what besides, because I don’t want to know. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. "How long shall I be here?" he asked.
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