He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. I could always 108 tell right away whether my new foster home was going to be good or bad. Dear me, what a difference it has made! No one would ever think that we were sisters. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. ” “That sounds very interesting,” she answered coolly. “So Brendon and I,” he said, “have been troubled with the same fears. They were just nice. ‘Beg pardon, sir?’ asked the sergeant, evidently mystified. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. I am guilty practically of the impertinence of coming to ask you whether I misunderstood your sister. ” “How dull you are,” the lady remarked.
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