“I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. ” She gazed at him. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. It was most amusing. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her.
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