"The men. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take the vacant chair. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. He felt that he might soon be separated—perhaps, for ever—from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him, that he could not help joining in her grief. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. " "You won't tell me what he has done?" "If you'll tell me where he's heading.
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