Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. "Your uncle, Sir Rowland?" "It is no idle boasting," replied the other. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. Wood was scarcely seated before Mr. Unless—would he hide from them as he had hidden from her? It was a big house, he said. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street.
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