" "Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland—"damned—double-dyed traitor!" "Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter another word,—"first to Mr. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. They sell only their talents, not their bodies; they are not girls of the street. ‘Unless he is himself a man of substance. She can be of use to me yet. " "Tell him so, and have done with him, Sir Rowland," observed Jonathan coldly. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse.
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