There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. “Well, hello there. In one grave, mind. It’s no good hiding it any more. ’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed. “But if you had?” she said.
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