" "No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. "You had better let me convey her to Dollis Hill," he said. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. ” The tall young man dropped his eye-glass and smiled.
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