‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. And, in addition, she was now seeing and talking to Ramage almost weekly, on a theory which she took very gravely, that they were exceptionally friends. Mr. “What are you doing?” “Nothing. They had chosen to deliberately and wickedly insult a lady who had done her best to entertain them for many weeks. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. Disperse in every direction.
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