well your dress looks!'

'And I?--Mr. Falkirk,' said Wych Hazel.

'Why that's a matter of taste, my dear, of course. Some people
you know are partial to black eyes--which yours are not. Others
again--Ah, here is breakfast,--Now my dear, eat as much as you
can,--you know we may not have any breakfast to-morrow. On a
search after fortune, you never can tell.'

And helping her to an extraordinary quantity of everything on
the tray, Mr. Falkirk at once went off and left her to dispose
of it all alone. And of course he went straight into the next
room. Didn't she know he would?--and didn't she hear the duo
that greeted him?--'What, Mr. Falkirk!'--'Sir, your most
obedient!'--and her guardian's double reply--'Back again, eh?'--
and 'Your most obedient, Mr. Kingsland.' Wych Hazel felt
provoked enough not to eat another mouthful. Then up came the
stage, rumbling along to the front door; and as it came, in
rushed Mr. Falkirk, poured out a cup of scalding coffee and
swallowed it without a moment's hesitation.

'Coach, sir!' said the waiter opening the door.

'Coach, my dear?' repeated her guardian, taking her arm and
whisking her down the hall and into the stage, before the
passengers in the long room could have laid down their knives.

'What is the use of being in such a hurry, Mr. Falkirk?' she
said at last; much tried at being tossed gently into the stage