"And now," said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) "you will no longer defer my happiness. We leave England to-night. "You forgot your lunch," she said. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg.
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