“That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. A buxom piece, who looked, Gerald decided, as if she would be more at home in an amorous engagement in a hayloft than sitting demurely in a ballroom. But his grief was of short duration. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be so hard to find as formerly.
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