Wild!" demanded Trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. You are very lovely, Ruth. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper. “She is marvellously clever,” he said.
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