Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. "I thought I heard a noise. His room was last at the end of one winding corner. ” After all, it was not so easy. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. Manning loved her presented itself to her bloodlessly, stilled from any imaginative quiver or thrill of passion or disgust. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. Manning?” said her aunt.
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