The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome. “I suppose my levity is incorrigible. Sir John followed her gaze, and also saw them.
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