‘I wish you joy of the wench. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. She was aware of people—her aunt, her father, her fellow-students, friends, and neighbors— moving about outside this glowing secret, very much as an actor is aware of the dim audience beyond the barrier of the footlights. But that brought Mrs. Was it a week ago? No, perhaps more. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time.
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