His face was downcast. ” “She didn’t say she’d met any one. " At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's brow. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. Traversing what remained of Wych Street at a rapid pace, and speeding along Drury Lane, the trio soon found themselves in Kendrick Yard. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly. It is just how things happen to be. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth.
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