That swinery of a place she insists on visiting is usually crammed.

With you there,' he turned to Woodseer, 'I might find it agreeable .-- You can take my man, Corby; I shall not want the fellow.' 'Positively, my dear Fleetwood, you know,' Sir Meeson expostulated, 'I am under orders; I don't see how--I really can't go on without you.' 'Please yourself.

This gentleman is my friend, Mr.Woodseer.' Sir Meeson Corby was a plump little beau of forty, at war with his fat and accounting his tight blue tail coat and brass buttons a victory.

His tightness made his fatness elastic; he looked wound up for a dance, and could hardly hold on a leg; but the presentation of a creature in a battered hat and soiled garments, carrying a tattered knapsack half slung, lank and with disorderly locks, as the Earl of Fleetwood's friend--the friend of the wealthiest nobleman of Great Britain!--fixed him in a perked attitude of inquiry that exhausted interrogatives.
Woodseer passed him, slouching a bow.

The circular stare of Sir Meeson seemed unable to contract.