It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. You understand me, I’m sure. I had not been near the Royal Society since—since you disgraced me. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. . "Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. Two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found.
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