“Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. "Ah!" exclaimed Sir James. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. ‘Possibly,’ he said. "Your boast, you see, was a little premature, Mr. I found him once in my rooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door. “Molly and you settled about the rooms. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished,—many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,—and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr.
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