’ ‘Oh yes, yes. Lord, I am sixty. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. “No, he wouldn’t come here of all places—just now. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool.
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