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" "That 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the countryman. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. One must be on guard. ” They were eating quails when they returned to the topic of love.
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