CHAPTER XIII. Mrs. I'll wait for you down here. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. Nothing but the constraint of social usage now linked him to her. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. You understand what I mean. I sometimes laid away my father's clothes in his trunk. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention.
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