for that purpose before a mirror. A good-looking youth, whom we
introduce without farther ceremony as Harry Hazlehurst, was
watching the chess-players with some interest. There were also
two ladies sitting on a sofa, and as both happened at the time to
be inmates of Wyllys-Roof, we may as well mention that the
elderly gentlewoman in a cap was Mrs. Stanley, the widow of a
connection from whom young Hazlehurst had inherited a large
property. Her neighbour, a very pretty woman, neither young nor
old, was Mrs. George Wyllys, their host's daughter-in-law, and,
as her mourning-dress bespoke her, also a widow. This lady was
now on a visit to Wyllys-Roof with her young children, whom, as
she frequently observed, she wished to be as much as possible
under the influence of their father's family.

Mr. Wyllys's game was interrupted for a moment, just as he was
about to make a very good move; a servant came to let him know
that a drunken man had been found under a fence near the house.
The fellow, according to Thomas's story, could not be roused
enough to give a straight account of himself, nor could he be
made to move.

"Is it any one you know, Thomas?" asked Mr. Wyllys.

"No, sir, it's no one from hereabouts. I shouldn't wonder if he
was a sailor, by the looks of his trowsers and jacket. I guess it
is some loafer on his way to Longbridge."

What could be done with him? was the question. The ladies did not
seem to like the idea of having a drunken man, whom no one knew,
brought into the house at night.