At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Fate! You are so frank so splendid! “I’m taking this calmly now,” he said, almost as if he apologized, “because I’m a little stunned. From thoughts of fame to thoughts of mere bread and butter! It seemed to Spurlock that he had tumbled off the edge of Somewhere into the abyss of Nowhere. I feel almost inclined to regret the fact. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. They were his friends, and they recognized his unusual earnestness. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. At once there came an answering knock. Ask your own conscience.
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