There is no grate, and the fire, which has plainly made up its mind not to light, is composed of Yule-logs. The floor is shining with sand, rushes having palled on Lady Lilias.,
"Well don't go to Dublin, at all events," says her mother, plaintively. "It's wretched form.",
"You would have been her henchman,—is that right, Nicholas?—or her varlet," says Dorothy, with conviction, "And you would have had to stain your skin, and go round with a cross-bow, and with your mouth widened from ear to ear to give you the correct look. All æsthetic people have wide mouths, have they not, Nicholas?".
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