The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. "What do you mean by that, sirrah?" cried Wood, reddening with anger. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning. He was no doubt doing his best to express the attitude of society toward these wearily heroic defendants, but he seemed to be merely rude and unfair to Ann Veronica. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. He had brought the shrubs down from Syria, and, strangely enough, they had prospered. Placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to Jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. Marvel, who proceeded to the cart, and took his seat upon the coffin. . .
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