The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions— From patches, justly placed, they borrow'd graces, And with vermilion lacquer'd o'er their faces. About the Abbey and Abingdon Street stood the outer pickets and detachments of the police, their attention all directed westward to where the women in Caxton Hall, Westminster, hummed like an angry hive. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. “Excuse me?” Mike threw Michelle a strange look, bursting into a grin. ‘How did you know that Mary was his daughter?’ Gerald hesitated. But this was not a season in which to be needlessly scrupulous.
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