She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. They either ran to see or ran for shelter. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay. On one side of the handbill a print of the reigning sovereign, Anne, had been pinned over the portrait of William the Third, whose aquiline nose, keen eyes, and luxuriant wig, were just visible above the diadem of the queen. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. I tell you once more, I'll say and do nothing to get you into trouble.
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