Three years ago my kind friend Lady Ferrybridge sent for me in the greatest state of alarm about her son Gretna, whose affair you remember, and implored me to use my influence with the young gentleman, who was engaged in an affaire de coeur with a Scotch clergyman's daughter, Miss MacToddy.

I implored, I entreated gentle measures.

But Lord Ferrybridge was furious, and tried the high hand.

Gretna was sulky and silent, and his parents thought they had conquered.

But what was the fact, my dear creature?
The young people had been married for three months before Lord Ferrybridge knew anything about it.