"You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. He couldn't have taken Mr. He went to the door. "Hush!—come hither, and I'll tell you. Or, if this goodlooking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go with him. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. The mock astonishment of his face immediately became genuine. It consisted of a close jerkin of brown frieze, ornamented with a triple row of brass buttons; loose Dutch slops, made very wide in the seat and very tight at the knees; red stockings with black clocks, and a fur cap.
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