ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. She did not so much deal with Ann Veronica’s interpolations as dispose of them with quick and use-hardened repartee, and then she went on with a fine directness to sketch the case for her agitation, for that remarkable rebellion of the women that was then agitating the whole world of politics and discussion. She cried out his name in ecstasy. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person.
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