At a table of actors, Mr.Andrew overdid his part, and was the worst.

His wife could not help thinking him a heartless little man.
The poor show had its term.

The ladies fled to the boudoir sacred to grief.

Evan was whispered that he was to join them when he might, without seeming mysterious to the Count.

Before he reached them, they had talked tearfully over the clothes he should wear at Lymport, agreeing that his present foreign apparel, being black, would be suitable, and would serve almost as disguise, to the inhabitants at large; and as Evan had no English wear, and there was no time to procure any for him, that was well.