"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. You tonic my liver and you tonic my soul. . ‘I thought—I thought I saw my—my husband. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. Giles's round-house on my own responsibility. Perceiving he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had the honour of addressing.
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