"Yes, indeed—it is quite enough to make one sick—eh! Dr. Sly?"
The Doctor shook his head mournfully, remembering the haunch.
"They say Ernest Clay's in sad difficulties, Miss Gusset."
"Well, I always expected his dash would end in that. Those wild harum-scarum men are monstrous disagreeable.—I like a person of some reflection— eh! Dr. Sly?"
Before the doctor could bow his usual assent, there entered a pretty little page, very daintily attired in a fancy dress of green and silver. Twirling his richly chased dirk with one tiny white hand, and at the same time playing with a pet curl, which was most picturesquely flowing over his forehead, he advanced with ambling gait to Miss Gusset, and, in a mincing voice, and courtly phrase, summoned her to the imperial presence.
The lady's features immediately assumed
