Kneebone, who had drained his glass to the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence, consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived in the jolliest humour possible. “I think, perhaps if you will excuse me, that we will defer the luncheon. They were talking of “Alcide,” as they often did in those days. There was a little murmur of consternation from the waiting crowd, and the florid young woman showed signs of temper, to which Mr. "Hold!" cried Kneebone, flinging down the packets; "they are nothing to me. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak.
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